


Storm's Boy

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: 80s, Alternate Canon, An excuse to write smut, Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Barebacking, Belfast, Big Dicks, Books, Bookstores, Clubhouse Party, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Decisions, Difficult Decisions, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Eyeliner, Face-Fucking, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Love, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Sex, Heart-to-Heart, House Party, Humor, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Invitation, Jealous Chibs, Jealousy, Kissing, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Love, Love Triangles, M/M, Male Friendship, Masturbation in Shower, Mayans - Freeform, Men Wearing Lipstick, Men Wearing Make-up, Mutual Pining, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Possible crack ship?, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Sarcasm, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Showing Off, Showing Off a Big dick, Slash, Slow Dancing, Slow Romance, Smut, Stabbing, Swearing, Topping, Topping from the Bottom, Truth, Uncut Juice, Uncut cocks, Wall Sex, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, crack ship, guest charter, inspired by a dream, smoking weed, vaseline as lube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: “Juice does a double take. A sudden shot of adrenaline twists his guts. He can still feel the brand of the fingertip there, on his right pec.”Juice has been pining for Chibs, but something is holding the Scot back. During a clubhouse party, Juice meets someone from another charter.Michael just might be the right person to make Chibs jealous.For some much needed comic relief- Jax, Ope, Tig and Hap are some amazing (albeit rarely appropriate) wingmen. :)
Relationships: Chibs Telford/Niall Connor, Chully, Happy Lowman/Tig Trager, Jax Teller & Opie Winston, Jax Teller/Opie Winston, Juice Ortiz & Chibs Telford, Juice Ortiz/Chibs Telford, Juice Ortiz/Original Male Character(s), Michael Harrington/Flaco Jimenez, Michael Harrington/Juice Ortiz, Ron Tully/Chuck Marstein
Comments: 491
Kudos: 174





	1. A Willing Consort

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on week 3 of quarantine so please enjoy the fruits of my forced isolation! This could really be a one-shot, but I'm going to give it a go and update until it dies its natural death. I'm enjoying writing it so much. 
> 
> I try to keep the characters as canon as possible here. In this story Jax is president and Chibs is his VP. It's an isolated setting and chapter 1 begins at a party, with no mention of the usual club drama or politics. I chose not to put Clay or Gemma in this, nor are there references to the spouses that existed on the show. Jax and Opie are a couple and in a self-indulgent way almost all the members are bisexual :)  
> Chapter 3 sees a Marilyn Manson/Ron Tully hybrid. Don't ask- just read and see for yourselves! :D

**PART ONE  
**  
  
Tig calls out for more drinks, waving his empty bottle in the air. “Prospect! Beer!”  
A scantily clad brunette balanced on his knee, he looks past her enormous breasts, past Hap, and throws Juice a wink.  
“None for you?” he mouths to Juan Carlos as he slaps the crow-eater on the ass.  
  
From across the room, plopped into the corner of the sofa, Juice lifts his chin and grins. “Not right now,” he answers. “Just booze.”  
Tig can’t hear him for all the chatter, but he reads his lips. He shrugs as if to say, “suit yourself.”  
  
Juice has been moody all night. Nursing his tumbler of whiskey for the better part of an hour, he thinks perhaps not even the promise of an alcohol-induced haze appeals to him.  
There’s a ton of “static” and it’s giving him anxiety. The clubhouse is packed, as is the exterior. There’s trash everywhere, and patches are stumbling in and out the door. The drunken whooping is so loud he can barely hear himself think.  
This couldn’t be a worse place for someone with his condition.  
  
“NO! Drink, Ope!”  
Jax and Opie are over at the bar, thumping their glasses on the wood in some drinking game involving… guessing? Juice can’t tell.  
A couple girls giggle beside them, the blond draping herself on the President’s arm. If she only knew how useless that was.  
  
It’s a freedom celebration. Two charters at the party, a couple of the SAMDINO crew got out of prison for a club-related thing. Seeing how Packer had some business in Charming anyway, SAMCRO is hosting.  
Any excuse to drink and get laid, right? Except for the moment, Juice isn’t feeling either. He’s sent two girls away already. He sighs, letting his tense back sink into the cushions.  
I need to get a massage, he muses.  
_  
  
Lately random thoughts haven’t been his only “distraction.” Something- or better, someone- has crept into his mind. A tall, dark and handsome distraction with a fucking Scottish accent.  
His chestnut eyes jump nervously back and forth. From Chibs to the ice cube floating in his drink. Back again.  
The next time he does it, Chibs catches him.  
Shit.  
  
Juice can feel the flush rise in his cheeks immediately. He smiles weakly, trying not to make it obvious that he’s been staring.  
Chibs just raises a glass in his direction, too tipsy to put it together. A grin makes featherlike laugh lines crinkle around his almond eyes.  
  
Goddamn him for being so fucking hot; Juice can’t take it. He diverts his attention to his phone- finding any excuse to look away.  
On occasions like this, he wishes he wasn’t so socially awkward. It’s just that he’s shy. And when he realizes he likes someone, Juice turns into a total mess.  
Just look at me now, he thinks. Palms sweaty- an uncomfortable strain in his crotch. He lets his legs part slightly to get more comfortable, pressing his forearms into his groin to stave the hardness.  
  
“Prospect! Beer!” Tig yells again, and finally a fresh-faced kid scampers out from the back.  
“Sorry, Tig.” Large moss eyes widen even further in worry. “I was helping Chucky stock.”  
  
The bottles clink together as he rounds them up in his arms.

Trying his best to look intimidating, Trager leans into him.  
“If I’m calling for more beer, prospect, you come _with three beers_ , and _then_ you clean up. Got it?”  
The prospect’s curly head bobs.  
“Yes- yes sir,” he stammers. “I’ll bring you your beers right away, sir.”  
  
Juice can’t help but laugh as he follows the conversation through intuition. It’s a long twelve months being a prospect, and that’s if you patch in at the first vote. He knows Tig is just fucking with him, but he’s got the poor guy nearly in tears.  
  
Forgetting to pause the shooting game he’s loaded, the red blinking message reminds him he’s now DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!  
“Fuck,” he mumbles. He’s about to reload the app when-  
“What are you playing?” says a pair of legs. A second later, the sofa dips. “You look about as invested in this party as I am.”  
  
Juice turns his head to the right. He’s half-expecting yet another drunken girl, but not with _that_ voice. Instead, his heart stops.  
White teeth gleaming, hand extended, occupying the spot right next to him is Chibs’ twin.  
Well, let’s say Chibs’ twin when he was 28.  
  
Dark, narrow eyes. Black hair falling just past his ears. Perfect lips.  
Sure, no Glasgow smile or thick accent… but the rest? If nothing else, they could pass for brothers.  
Who the hell is this?! How did he not know this guy was in DINO?  
Juice’s mind is whirring. Jesus Christ, the resemblance is uncanny!  
  
“I’m Michael. In the club I’m Python.”  
Juice realizes the guy’s still got his hand out and Juice is just sitting there with his mouth hanging open like an asshole.  
  
He shakes it, an eyebrow arched. “Python? What is that, ex-military code name or something? Are you a developer? Data scientist?”  
The guy has the Navy tat and the body to be a SEAL. Who knows, maybe he knows the platform, too?  
  
A slow, secret smile steals across Michael’s face. “Not exactly, though I was Navy. And I do know Python. And Java. Anyway, you’re Juice, right?” he asks from under half-lidded eyes.  
“Yeah, have we met?”  
Juice would have remembered, but it’s something that’s said, right?  
  
Michael bites into the inside of his plump mouth.  
“No, I’m a transfer into DINO. Moved here from Oregon.”  
The click of pool balls hitting each other and the shouts that follow call their attention away. Michael takes a swig, the ale bitter on his tastes buds. He rests the bottle on his thigh, knee bouncing. Frantic to find something to say, he finishes the rest of his drink- some liquid courage, anyone?  
  
Juice hooks onto Tig’s frost-blue stare as he rakes his gaze back. Tig’s smirking, brow lifted.  
What the hell is he on about? Juice asks himself.  
  
Michael shifts so he can maintain eye contact. It has not gone unnoticed to him that Juice is smoking. As soon as he saw him, he felt like he took a hammer to the heart.  
  
“So what do you do in SAMCRO?”  
With the excuse it’s difficult to hear, Michael inches forward, beginning to erase distance.  
Juice is about to answer but the guy blinks and- he’s so entranced by Michael’s murky eyes he forgets what he was going to say.  
“Juice?”  
“Hmm? Oh sorry- yeah. I do tech stuff. I’m good with computers, hacking.”  
I also hate talking about myself, he wants to reveal. Lifting his phone as evidence, Juice adds rather uncomfortably “And video games. That’s not for the club, though. That’s just for fun. What about you?”  
  
Michael throws back his head and chuckles.  
“You won’t believe it, but me too! I used to be in navy intelligence. I’d tell you more about that, but then I’d have to kill you.”  
The sly wink and the hand closing over Juice’s knee makes his heart flutter. The fingers of Juice’s left hand drum against his outer thigh a second later.  
Breathe, Juice. Breathe.  
Michael rejoices inside that he got away with it. His palm is still there, and now he lets his thumb rub gently into the muscle.  
_He’s touching my leg, He’s touching my leg_ Juice chants.  
  
“What- what kind of bike you got?” Juice scrambles, barely able to string his thoughts together. Is Michael wearing Dior Sauvage? It's floating over and making his nostrils flare.   
“A Dyna Street Bob.”  
_Fuck me_. “Of course it is,” Juice mumbles. A guy who looks like Chibs- riding Chibs’ bike… wearing Chibs’ cologne. Really, universe?  
  
Juice feels parched and his lungs (along with his pants) feel tighter. What is he, in middle school again? He pours himself another shaky finger of Jack and offers some.  
“Want?”  
Yes, please… give me EVERYTHING! Michael screams inside.  
  
So now they’re sharing spit? Two sips later, (from the same side of the rim where Juice drank), Michael folds his leg under him and hands it back.  
Their fingers linger a moment in the exchange.  
  
“I bet you’re a Dyna man, too.”  
Michael’s a couple breaths from Juice’s face now, this whiskey back hitting him harder than he thought. Cherry lips moist and a wave of primal heat surging through him, he dares.   
“What’s the bore/stroke ratio on yours?” He puts an emphasis on _stroke_.  
  
Juice swallows hard. Stroke ratio? Dear god, this guy is slick. He’d roll his eyes at the pun, but it’s actually fucking enticing. Juice isn’t minding all this attention.  
“95 to a 111, I think,” he stutters, fixated on Michael’s pert mouth.  
  
A new stir in his pants, Juice’s hands moistening… either it’s the whiskey kicking in or is he…?  
  
A slanted look to his left sees Chibs cross the club in a rush. A serpentine arm wraps around Tig. They’re whispering something, Tig never taking his eye off the couch- or Juice.  
_

“Who the hell is _that_?” Chibs murmurs close to Tig’s ear, his jaw tensing.  
The smell of malt on Filip is strong, but from the way he speaks, Tig thinks he’s still got his wits about him. He really doesn’t want to break up a fight tonight.  
  
“That’s a transfer from Oregon. New tech guy for SAMDINO, Python. Packer introduced me yesterday morning. Why you askin’?”  
Trager has a suspicion why, which he is going to keep to himself. That’s one of the many things he’s learned in the MC.  
  
Christ, the club’s been watching Juice and Chibs eye-fuck each other for weeks now. He wishes they’d just goddamn fuck each other already. It’s not like they’re judgmental. Jax and Ope have been a couple for a year. Tig, well Tig would fuck anything that breathes. (And perhaps, under the right conditions... )  
A flicker of apprehension courses through Filip. There’s a spark of jealousy tingling up his spine.  
“Aye, okay. No reason. Just odd that Juice didnae feel that chatty earlier, and noo-“  
  
They both wander their focus over to the two men. Tig keeps the snark to himself, but the new guy IS practically throwing himself at Juice- anyone halfway sober can see it. He’s even using the tattoo excuse to touch Juice’s forearm. Come on!  
Chibs fights to keep his fragile control with a deep inhale. A REALLY deep one, because every sweep of Python’s fingertip on Juice’s skin jangles him up inside.  
Fuck this.  
“All right. Thanks, Tiggy. I’ll see you later, hae fun.” He pats him on the shoulder as he lumbers away.  
“Yeah, Chibs. You too.”  
Christ. Something tells Tig there might be trouble tonight after all.  
_  
  
“I’ve got two skulls, too. One black, one white.”  
They’ve lowered their voices, but some of the noise has died down as well, making it easier to hear. A few of the members have stepped outside for smokes.  
Juice feels warm, his features relaxing. An almost dreamy glaze filters his line of vision.  
“Really? Where?” Python enquires.  
“My chest.”  
  
Long lashes blink and Michael’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Juice rubs his elbow and Michael mirrors.  
“That’s cool.” He looks around guiltily, as if someone could hear what he’s about to say. He lifts a finger and draws a circle into the soft cotton of Juice’s t-shirt. Right on his tat.  
He hooks in and pulls the collar down enough to see the top of a skull.  
“Maybe you can show me the rest later.”  
  
Yeah, Michael’s drunk enough to just leave that there. Slowly back away. The breath literally stops in his gullet.  
Juice does a double take. A sudden shot of adrenaline twists his guts. He can still feel the brand of the fingertip there, on his right pec.  
  
Juice really doesn’t want to peek at the bar again. He can feel the heat from Chib’s stare lasering into the back of his head.  
The more the alcohol kicks in, the less he cares, though.  
Yeah, he likes Chibs. And yes, he’s REALLY attracted to him and maybe that’s his Daddy issues talking, but who gives a shit right now?  
The fact stands that neither have made a move. It’s been this huge fucking elephant in the room and Juice is pretty sure everyone in the club has noticed except maybe for Chibs himself, who for whatever reason can’t seem to understand that if he’d just fucking ask, Juice would be his.  
  
That hasn’t happened yet, though. So why shouldn’t he have some fun?  
It’s a party. Juice is under enough after the third whiskey to be witty and charming.  
Plus, now he’s horny and Michael’s hot as fuck.  
  
Okay, it doesn’t hurt he looks like a young Chibs. Admittedly that was weird at first, but now it’s growing, (like his erection and ironically his confidence), into an enormous turn on.  
Juice’s eyes soften, glossed over. His position loosens, and leaning forward as if to touch Michael’s shoulder, he brushes his lips against his ear lobe instead. Here goes everything.  
“Wanna talk somewhere more private?”  
  
Dude’s practically climbing into his lap. This is what Michael’s been leading to, right?  
The proposition tickles his neck, the eventuality of what’s going to happen sends a shiver of desire through him.  
“Yeah, Juice. Let’s go,” he breathes. _God help me, I don’t know how I haven’t jumped him already._  
_  
  
When they hoist themselves to their feet, Juice hooks his pinky into Michael’s, leading him off. Tig see-saws from the men to Chibs. He half sits up, because Chibs’ back straightening lends the idea that he’s about to riot.  
_Oh shit.  
_  
At the bar, Ope and Jax look up when Chibs slams a bottle on the counter, cursing something in Gaelic under his breath. Instead of stopping the couple from heading into the hallway, though, Chibs turns on his heel and slams the door behind him, disappearing into the back room.  
“Poor Chucky,” Tig says to Hap. "Chibs is gonna eat him alive. He doesn't know the storm that's coming. Nobody better mess with his boy."  
He tilts his head and lifts his chin. Happy nods in understanding.  
“I got him. I'll keep him from breaking everything in the pantry, including Chucky.”  
He disappears after Chibs, leaving his beer bottle behind on the chair’s arm. Tig leans and adds it to the collection already on the table.  
  
Jax grins, a laugh shaking his shoulders. He nudges Ope.  
“Looks like our little Juice is gonna get lucky,” he says into his love’s mane of hair. Ope simpers, ringed fingers lifting the shot glass to his tongue.  
“Good for him. He’s been wound up more than usual lately. I don’t know what Chibs is waiting for. It was getting so bad I was about to offer Juice a blowjob myself.“  
  
A fit of laughter comes over them, so violent it almost makes Jax spit out his beer. He leans in, grabbing Opie’s chin. A bitten lower lip begs a kiss from his lover’s plump, whiskered lips.  
“That mouth is only mine, Harry Winston. Don’t you get any strange ideas, you understand me?”  
“Yeah, baby. I know,” Opie answers with devotion.  
  
Tig walks over in the meantime, enveloping both of them in his strong arms.  
“Hey boys.”  
“Hey Tiggy,” Jax trills, a “little” drunk.  
  
Squinting, Tig’s sea eyes sparkle mischievously. “Do you guys see it, too?”  
“What?” Jax asks.  
Opie doesn’t even twitch. “SAMDINO hunk looks like a young Chibs.”  
The words rumble in his massive chest. His perfunctory tone just underlines his passivity, and it’s hilarious.  
  
Ope says it as Jax is taking another sip, and fuck if he’s not coughing again. It takes a minute to settle himself.  
“Goddamn you, Ope,” Jax chuckles.  
“Okay, so I wasn’t the only one? Jesus Christ. Juice sure can pick ‘em.” Tig squeezes their shoulders and rests his chin on the top of Jax’s.  
“How long until they fuck?” Tig muses.  
  
Ope shrugs, throwing back another. “I’m sure they’re already naked. He’s got good taste, though. Dude’s hot. Did you see the ass on him?”  
If he didn’t spray his drink before, it’s now coming out of Jax’s nose.  
Tig drags his hands into the back of his friends’ hair. “Give him 5 min? Wanna go listen?”  
  
Jax shakes his head. “You’re such a freak, Trager.”  
Ope throws Jax a sidelong glance.  
Tig chortles. “Yeah. Thought so. Let’s give ‘em 10. I’ll go meet you guys at the door.”  
  
  
**PART TWO  
**  
  
Any pretense of “talking” pretty much dials to BULLSHIT as soon as the door closes behind them. Things drop in this order as they savagely explore each other’s mouths:  
Cuts  
Shirts  
Pants  
Boxers  
Facades  
  
Juice buries a fist into Michael’s hair when they’ve fallen back onto the bed, the nails of his other hand trailing down the furrow between the muscles ridging his spine.  
“You’re so hot,” Juice sibilates.  
Their cocks graze, grinding helplessly into one another. Juice seizes his mouth again in some blissed out whiskey trip. He’s drunk enough to drive this, but sober enough to perform and remember it in the morning. Fuck yeah.  
  
Goddamn Juice feels good. It’s overwhelming, and the power shift is totally turning Michael on. All he wants is to succumb to the forceful domination of Juice’s body.  
“Fuck, Juice… “  
The kiss is almost punishing, angry- with an undertone of desperation. Each man working out some issue the other doesn’t know- or care about.  
Michael stabs his tongue between Juice’s teeth, roving his muscle over Juice’s as he digs into his toned ass.  
  
“Jesus,” Juice mewls, his mouth already swollen from their ravaging kisses. When his hand steals down and grabs Michael’s cock, he halts.  
“Oh shit.”  
Michael’s brow furrows, and there’s that sly smile again.  
“Motherfucker. This is why they call you Python. You are such an ass,” Juice chuckles. They were so caught up in making out he didn’t really notice.  
Yeah, he’s huge.  
“Well, I do also know the language, I swear,” Michael quips.  
  
Juice squints, bends his head, mentally measuring. “Um… I don’t know if I can make this fit.”  
Michael bites off a hysterical laugh. “I get that a lot. No worries. I’m a bottom.”  
“Oh thank God,” Juice sighs in relief.  
  
“But let’s not get to the good stuff just yet…” Slinking down to his knees, Michael grabs Juice’s sex. He can’t get his hand around his girth, and fuck if it doesn’t take him almost unhinging his jaw to get it all the way to his throat. Now who’s huge?!  
  
“Oh shit, baby,” Juice bucks as soon as he feels the moist heat. It's been so long. Fingers card into his silky hair, gently pressing in.  
The tight pressure of Michael’s massaging lips, his fucking warmth as he slides him in deeper and deeper…Juice can’t resist.  
He rocks his hips against him.   
  
Christ Juice tastes good. Michael’s so fucking hard- if there’s one thing he loves it’s sucking cock. And Juice has one of the best he’s ever had.  
“Like that baby, fuck yeah… “  
Juice is trying not to pretend this is Chibs. Fuck. He fixates the ceiling because if he looks down and squints it’s just like-  
This is not Chibs. This is Michael. This is Michael. He’s a nice guy and he likes him.  
  
Python takes him like it’s his job. Chin slick, not even coming up for air- the little gurgles his mouth makes as Juice drives his dick into his tonsils- and beyond- send him over the edge. His curled fingers knead, pushing his face into Juice's pubes.   
Picking up on the not-so-subtle hint, Juice brackets his head still and drills into him.   
"Gah gah gah" it bubbles out of Michael like the spit dripping onto his chest.  
  
The first hint of orgasm coils inside Juice and he’s honestly moments from deciding whether to nut down his throat or spray his face. He eases off, letting Michael catch his breath.   
"I love your fucking cock, Juice," he prays, chest heaving.  
Michael feels him tense, the erection pulsing in his hand as he works the head to the base, stroking with two hands where his lips leave moist stripes.  
“Come in my mouth,” Michael begs, flicking the tip of his tongue on the slit. "Please."  
  
Jesus fucking Christ. Juice whimpers at the kitten licks. Shit if that doesn’t seal the deal.  
  
Michael hollows out his cheeks, he can feel it’s moments away.   
"I'm close," Juice hiccups- "Stick out your tongue."   
Frantic tugs crash him into his release. “Fuuuck,” Juice lets out a raw groan as he comes in three long spurts.  
Two hit Michael's open mouth but on the third he misses and coats his chest.  
Swirling the jizz around, savoring his taste, he lets some of it dribble onto his lips. It’s hot and tastes a little like weed, Juice must smoke a lot.  
  
The room is spinning. A hazy vision of Michael kneeling before him, swallowing his cum, makes his knees weaken.   
“Jesus Christ, Michael,” Juice pants, pulling him up for a sloppy kiss. “I think that was the best blowjob I’ve ever had.”  
  
“It’s one of my specialties,” he brags. "And I love a good face fuck." He swipes a thumb across his swollen mouth.  
  
Juice reaches between his legs, the hot rod sticky from precome and sweat.   
"Now time for me to repay the favor."  
  
Speaking of just that, though, does he really think this beer can is going in easily?  
“Not to butter you up, Juice, but damn.” Michael straddles him, teasing his hole with the tip. “This’ll be tight. Mind _buttering_ up this gorgeous uncut cock of yours?”  
  
A gurgle of laughter escapes Juice. “Yeah, of course. There’s lube and condoms in the top drawers of all these rooms. The club mostly uses them to fuck crow-eaters or to sleep off hangovers when the Old Ladies are pissed off at 'em.”  
  
Michael tilts his head, a look of disgust marring his face as he reaches for the drawer handle.  
“How delightful. And where can we find a clean towel to fuck on?”  
  
Wait, he’s a neat freak too?  
“Marry me, Michael," Juice jokes.  
  
Porn noises come from the next room, their heads turning towards the sound. “YES.. FUCK ME, LES! FUCK ME!”  
  
Michael closes his eyes with a shiver. “Guess my prez is getting laid. Mind… distracting me?”  
“With pleasure.” Juice screws his face up, cupping the curve of Michael’s ass cheeks.  
“Wanna ride me first, baby?”  
  
_

Tig, Ope, and Jax have their ears to the door. Tig’s palming himself over his bulge.  
“I am so hard right now,” he whispers.  
Jax flicks his fingers at his chest. “Would you stop touching yourself in the hallway?”  
“Where would you like me to touch myself, Jackson?”  
  
Ope can’t contain his laugh and covers his mouth.  
“Oh God… yes! Fuck yeah. Harder, Juice…”  
  
“Damn Juice,” Jax says through a grin that cuts his face in half. “Gettin’ it done.”  
“I didn’t peg him for a top, but then again you never know.” Tig has a whimsical expression on his face as he continues to stroke himself over his jeans.  
“Nah, I think he just likes dick in all its wonderful shapes, sizes, and manners,” Jax adds.  
  
Tig’s hand keeps moving and Ope reaches out and slaps it. “Would you stop that? You’re freaking me out.”  
“Say that closer to my ear, Ope, I’m close,” Tig breathes.  
  
Jax leans down. Two silhouettes move in semi-darkness in the keyhole’s shape.  
“What they doin’ now?” Tig nips into his lower lip. “Describe it to me.”  
Curling up one corner of his mouth, Ope slides his head to the side in resignation. Tig is Tig.  
  
“I’m close, Juice… fuck I’m close…”  
  
“Well, apparently DINO hunk is close,” Ope rests his form against the wall, smiling.  
“Juice is fucking him from behind,” Jax recounts.  
“Oh that is so hot,” Tig groans. "Tell me more."   
“He’s really going to town. The other guy is jacking off and-"  
  
All three straighten suddenly when they hear footsteps, but when they turn the corner it’s only Chucky. He doesn’t ask, but Tig offers because he’s a shameless freak.  
“We’re listening to Juice have sex.”  
  
Acknowledging the information with a brief nod, Chucky grins.  
“I accept that. Perhaps that is why Chibs is taking apart the back room?”  
  
_

  
Michael raises his shaky hand, passing the joint back to Juice. He’s nestled into the crook of his shoulder, their free hands intertwined.  
“This is good shit.” The smoke billows in front of them.  
“I have a weed shop," Juice scrunches his face up from the hit. "Steady supply. I need it for my anxiety.”  
“Yeah, I get that, too. Light PTSD.”  
  
With a soft sigh, Juice’s lips descend to meet his. Compared to how they ravaged each other all night, the kiss is slow, thoughtful. Michael reaches forward and caresses his cheek.  
“This was nice, Juice. I haven’t clicked with someone like this in a long time.”  
  
Juice’s chest rises and falls in an even rhythm. The blush is fading from their sex-soaked bodies.  
He lightly brushes away a loose lock of Michael’s hair and sighs.   
“Yeah, me too. I’ve been hung up on someone, I’m gonna be honest. But nothing’s happened. It’s frustrating to sit around and wait for something that might never be, you know?”  
  
Michael’s eyelashes flutter. “I’ve been there.”   
There’s a sadness to the tone, and Juice immediately thinks he shouldn’t have mentioned it. Maybe Michael thinks this was just drunken sex. Juice really feels something, even if the thing started almost to spite Chibs. How long is the Scot going to keep him waiting, anyway? Why shouldn't he find someone to pass some time with?  
  
His eyes seek Michael’s and holds them. “I really like you. This doesn’t have to be just a one-night stand if you don’t want it to be. We could see each other, you know? I mean it’s what, a 5-hour ride?”  
  
The soft voice brings Python upright. “I wouldn’t mind seeing where this goes, Juice. You know, if things with your VP don’t pan out.”  
“How? How d’you know?” he stutters.  
Pulling his foot under Juice’s, he manages a small, tentative smile.  
  
“You were staring at him all night. I figured I didn’t have a chance, but that maybe the resemblance might at least get me a ticket for one night with you.”  
“I didn’t fuck you just because you look like Chibs,” Juice interjects, eyes widening.  
  
“I know. Me wanting to use that to my advantage wouldn’t really put me in a position to judge if you had.”  
He drops to peck him on one of the skulls.  
“I like you, Juice. You’re sweet and we have a lot in common. This life is… complicated. Gets lonely. So yeah, I really wouldn’t mind knowing that we could keep each other company when it gets a little… dark.”  
  
Juice has missed this- a connection with someone. He has it with Chibs, almost too deeply. It’s something that’s been skirting obsession and that’s not healthy, not for someone who needs control over everything.  
This thing with Michael, it seems light. Easy. Maybe he needs this?  
  
“When do you guys ride out?”  
“Day after tomorrow.”  
Combing his strong, black hair with his fingers, Juice's glittering eyes crinkle from his infectious grin.  
“Okay. Wanna have dinner with me tomorrow? My place? So we can finally have some privacy. I think I heard Tig outside the door earlier."  
"Is he the sex-obsessed guy with blue eyes?"  
  
A giggle makes his body quake. "The one and only. He's a total freak but we love him."  
"Yeah, I think he hit on me yesterday."  
Somehow that doesn't surprise Juice at all.  
"I’ll clear it with Jax, make sure he doesn’t need me for anything. What d'ya say?”  
Michael squeezes Juice’s hand, brings his fingertips to his lips and kisses them. “Yeah, I’d like that.”  
"Then it's a date."   
  


to be continued... 


	2. Hard Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning of- SAMDINO are riding out at noon. Juice and Michael make the most of their time left. Once back at the clubhouse, Tig makes an odd request of Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 opens straight into more smut. Just a warning! ;)

“Christ, Juice…”  
When he buries himself inside, it’s like diving into the ocean. Michael’s consciousness dulls, his vision blurs. Maybe it’s the cinch, maybe it’s the way Juice’s skin smells like gingerbread and God Almighty, he wants to just tear into him, make him his- it’s like a drug.  
A drug he’s consumed 5 times in the past 36 hours.  
  
The mattress dips. Juice holds the headboard for balance with a white-knuckled curl of his hand.  
His other fist chokes his own cock.  
Light mid-morning traffic filters in through the open window, and a dog barks, but they can barely discern the sounds. Their hearing is muffled, only their racing pulses and heavy breathing filling the surrounding space.

“Go deeper” Juice begs. His roped muscles roll when he moves against Michael, arching his back to get closer.  
Their knees make dents in the bedding.  
  
Even an inch… he needs more.  
“You sure you can take it all?” The words are a hot invitation making the molecules move against Juice’s ear, Michael’s voice low and raw with want.  
Juice isn’t sure, but he sure as hell wants to try.  
“Yeah baby, yeah. Put it all the way in.”  
  
Michael groans, snakes his muscled arm around Juice, kissing the expanse between his shoulder blades.  
“Spread a little more for me.”  
Juice is two or three phrases like that away from coming all over his bed like some teenager. This guy- what’s he doing to him?! (The “fucking him senseless” is implied).  
  
Juice obeys, the muscles of his thighs flexing from strain. His dilated pupils scan the ceiling for something to latch onto. Anything to stave his orgasm a little longer.  
“Going in on 3…”  
Ribs expanding, Juice takes a deep breath-  
  
“3.”  
What a little shit! He could have counted down for real!  
  
“Oh fuck yeah.” There’s warm breath on Juice’s nape, soft hair tickling the top of his shoulder. And a huge shaft inching the rest of its way into him.  
  
Holy Mother of God, it’s happening! It’s searing, but just a toe over on the right side of pain/pleasure.  
“Doing so good, baby,” Michael murmurs. It’s a few more seconds and then Juice feels Python’s balls hit his cheeks.  
It’s in. All marvelous ten inches of him.  
  
“Oh Jesus!” If Juice ever wondered what it meant to have a monster dick fuck him deeper than he’s ever been fucked, now he knows.  
Thank God they’re at his- the noise they’re making would attract all the pervs in the clubhouse. Tig especially.  
  
Michael stills. “Sorry baby, if it’s too much…”  
Juice can feel him easing out and he panics. “NO Michael no, it feels amazing. Move, though, _please move_. I’m about to fucking explode over here and your pulling out like that felt fucking phenomenal.”  
  
Michael grabs Juice up like he’s trying to save them both from drowning. The drag on his cock is so fucking perfect it brings tears to his eyes.  
Soft dampened flesh presses. One reaper covers the other.  
  
Juice opens to Michael’s urging, settles back, seeking him. Fucking himself on his length as much as Michael is plowing into him -pushing back on every plunge as if all of Py still wasn’t enough.

The air is sex. They’re sex. The concave hollow of Juice’s spine tingles at every touch.  
  
“Oh fuck oh fuck,” Juice spits, drops of sweat and saliva marking his sheets- a precursor to what’s about to stain.   
Almost in apnea, Juice half-whispers it, the need so tight in his chest it’s made his breathing short.  
  
“Jesus Christ I’m coming...”  
He finishes- the phrase and his orgasm – both ending with a moan. He spills over his quaking hand, the come splashing the dove grey headboard on the subsequent spurts.  
It looks like someone hung a pearl necklace there.  
  
With the next thrust, more violent than the previous, black tufts sprout from between Juice’s fingers as he reaches back, grabbing Michael to him for an open-mouth, obscenely sexy kiss.  
Michael’s tongue wanders up the cord of his neck, making Juice shudder against his bare chest.  
“I’m gonna come, baby.”  
Michael rolls his hips. Chest rising and falling, he bites into the spot that’s already got a purple mark.  
“His” spot.  
  
“Oh god,” Juice breathes at the scrape of incisor on his clavicle. It’s a sever of skin, spit, and iron.  
  
That’s what does it this time. Michael’s chin hits his chest, Juice’s rust still red on his tongue.  
“Mother of God…” His trapped cock twitches, pumping Juice full of his cum.  
  
_

  
They ride in together, side by side, and that doesn’t fail to raise some eyebrows. Especially since everyone noticed they were absent at the second party SAMCRO threw last night.  
“Oh this is gonna be good,” Jax mutters to Ope, throwing a glance to Chibs, whose back straightened the moment he saw them drive up.  
“If by good you mean shitshow, then yeah, it’s gonna be great.” Tig grins, patting Jax on the back. He adjusts his sarcasm to every occasion, without fail.  
  
“Did you see how pissy Chibs was last night?” Ope notes, flipping his Zippo open and closed. “That Dino hunk sitch has got him all jacked up.”  
  
Tig, Jax, and Ope are smoking by the clubhouse door, Ope's back pressed into the column.  
“I don’t get it, man. If he wants Juice, why doesn’t he just tell him? Make a move? Instead he’s standing there like someone killed his goddamn canary.”  
  
Chibs and Packer are talking over by the garage, Chibs trying very hard to look unperturbed. Some of the DINO crew are peppered around the property, half still inside. Since they ride out in less than an hour, most of the bikes are already prepped, bedrolls in place.  
  
“I swear to God, it’s like a fucking nursery school in here sometimes.” A shake of his head loosens Jax’s blond hair. He pulls them back with two fingers and hooks the strands behind his ears.   
  
Juice and Python approach, Juice throwing a sidelong glance to Chibs. Sure, seeing him again is- different. Spending 18 hours alone with Michael has slightly changed his perspective on things. But he can’t deny his stomach still doesn’t flurry over. Just not as much as before.  
Not nearly.  
  
“Hey man.” Ope and Michael shake hands when he reaches them. “You guys all right?”  
“Hey Ope. Jax, Tiggy. You guys have a good party last night?” Juice asks.  
  
Tig nods, an ironic grin smeared across his face. He saw how much trouble Juice had getting off his bike.  
“Usual, ya know. Probably not as good a time as you two had, huh?”  
  
Throwing the butt to the ground with a flick, Jax chuckles. “What d’you do to him, Py?” Pulling down Juice’s t-shirt, revealing the rest of the hickey and the bite mark, they all gasp.  
“Yeah man, he can barely walk,” Tig chimes in.  
  
Python kicks a pebble with his boot, running his thumb over his plump top lip.  
“A lady never kisses and tells, boys,” the paleness of his skin flush with color. “Baby, I’m gonna go get a beer. Want anything?”  
  
Jax’s eyebrows shoot to the sky when he hears Michael call Juice baby.  
“No thanks, babe.”  
 _Babe?!_  
  
Against better judgment, (or maybe to piss Chibs off), Juice grabs Py’s chin and gives him a tender, though lingering, kiss.  
“Hurry back,” he breathes.  
“Yeah, hurry back,” Tig growls after him.   
  
Ope swings over the beam, staring straight at Chibs. He’s twirling a beer bottle by its neck, glaring at all of them.  
“Holy shit he looks like he’s gonna puke.”  
“Let him,” Juice replies, the bitterness fresh on his tongue. “I don’t give a shit anymore.”  
  
“Ouch.” Jax has never seen Juice like this, walking around like he’s king of the world.  
“So what’s this baby and babe shit? You two together now or what?”  
It’s the President’s right to know what’s happening in the club- it’s Tig’s personal curiosity that spurs the next question.  
  
Juice is positively beaming. He can’t wipe the grin from his stupid face if he tried.  
“Yeah, we are. I mean, we’re gonna try. He’s such a great guy.” He looks at his audience almost like he needs to convince them of it.  
  
“Last night I cooked him dinner, but he brought wine. Then he insisted on washing the dishes. Even brought a pie!”  
  
"All right," Tig hisses. He hooks his sunglasses into his shirt, mouthing “Can you believe this?” to Jax and Ope.  
He slaps Juice on the shoulder, the smack loud.  
  
“Oww,” Juice exclaims, rubbing into the spot. “What the hell is your problem?”  
“We don’t care about that, Juice. Jesus Christ! _Tell us the shit we want to hear!”_ Each of the last words is in crescendo.   
  
Ope throws his head back, shaking, and Jax can’t see for the tears.  
“Tig’s right, Juicy, “ he manages between gasps for air. “Tell us what’s got you walkin’ funny today.”  
  
There isn’t enough noise. Juice looks around him like someone’s eavesdropping so he leans in.  
  
“We had sex five times since the party. I always topped until this morning. This morning I took a ten inch cock _. All of it_.”  
  
Tig pales, focus attracted towards the clubhouse door, out of which Py has just exited. He rakes his gaze down to Michael’s crotch, licking his lips. “You say that as if it’s nothing. Like you’re telling me you bowled a 140… “  
  
Still keeping his eyes on Py, Tig reaches down and grazes over his crotch.  
“Tig I swear to God if you start jerking off again-“ Ope bellows.  
  
There’s a clank of bottles, and when they look over, it’s Chibs pulling Packer inside. “He does not look happy,” Jax comments, unwrapping a piece of gum.  
Meanwhile, Tig is moving his hands back and forth like an accordion, trying to get a visual on the measurement.  
  
He shoves them at Juice. “Juice- here. Before he comes back. Show me how big it is.”  
“I’m not showing you how big it is! And I know where those hands have been, so don’t think I’m touching them. Just think a little smaller than a ruler," he waves him away.  
Tig stares off into space, imagining this ghost dick. “Holy God.”  
  
Jax can’t contain his laughter at this point. But he’s happy for Juice. He honestly looks giddy, a glow to his face he hasn’t seen on the kid in years.  
Py smacks Juice’s ass when he joins them again. He tips back the beer, and Tig switches from admiring his mouth, to looking hungrily down to his bulge.  
  
“Can I see it?” he whispers.  
Juice’s jaw drops. Jax and Ope are beside themselves.  
  
“See what?” Michael asks, lips shiny with froth. It’s not yet dawning on him what Tig is actually requesting.  
“Your penis. Can I see it?” Tig asks, face serious- as if that’s the most normal question ever.  
  
Michael smiles, actually considering it. Jax is holding his stomach, doubled over from laughter.  
“Yeah, why not?” Py shrugs.   
  
“Holy shit!” Ope bursts out.  
“Are- Are you serious?” Tig stutters.   
“Yeah, fuck it. Juice – here, hold my beer.”  
  
If the walls (or in this case, the picnic tables) could talk. The shit that happens at TM.  
  
“Well if you’re giving it away, darlin’, we all wanna see,” Jax smirks.  
Juice just shakes his head, cradling the bottle to his chest. “Fucking unbelievable.”  
  
There they are, standing by the fence, backs turned so no one coming can see Py. It’s a line of reapers.  
  
Tig looks like he’s about to pass out, and Ope and Jax are elbowing each other, tears streaming down their faces.  
“Hard or soft?”  
  
“Wait, you can get hard like this?” Tig sibilates.  
“Already at half mast, gents.”  
“Marry me, “ Tig mutters, not kidding in the least bit.   
  
The zipper comes down, and Tig crosses himself. There it is- the outline of a very large penis- just not as big as it can get yet. Juice stands behind them, wanting no part of this. He’s counting the clouds, wondering how he ended up with such insane friends.  
  
Py draws closer, lifts his eyes so he can see Juice through the gap between Tig and Jax. He thinks about how it felt to be inside Juice this morning- hearing his laments, watching his cum fountain all over.  
That does it. It visibly grows in his fist.  
Py pulls down the front of his underwear and his ten inches of uncut glory spring out, kissed by the sun.  
  
“Sweet mother of God.” Tig visibly pales, lips moving but nothing coming out.  
“Impressive brother, impressive,” Jax acknowledges with a nod and a curl to the lip.  
“You’re a lucky man, Juice!” Ope shouts.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Juice whispers. _What has my life become_?  
  
“You okay, Tig?” Ope asks when it’s been a minute and he has said nothing.  
“He’s like a deer in headlights,” Jax jokes.  
  
Sooty lashes blink slowly. Tig reaches out, a tentative, trembling hand.  
“NO TOUCHING!” Juice screams.  
  
Michael chuckles, stuffs his junk back inside, having to bend his cock funny to make it fit. There’s a sly smile stretching across his face.  
“And that, gentlemen, is the python.”  
  
“I want a selfie with it… “ Tig’s voice trails off, eyes still wide in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Just more nonsense for these boys!


	3. Like Lambs to Love's Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Chibs’ shadowed eyes show tortured sadness, two pools of appeal. They don’t know… they can’t… the guys just wouldn’t understand. How could they? He's never told anyone.  
> In a cemetery in Belfast is a grave without a headstone. Chibs dug it himself in the dead of night, blinded by whiskey and scalding tears. Later he carved their names into the weeping willow that served as a marker.  
> Filip and Niall.  
> When he buried his first love, a part of him was entombed there with him. A part he thought would never spark into life again.  
> Jesus Christ, just uttering the name in his mind’s voice makes it burn on his tongue as if it were uttered in prayer.  
> Juice reminds him so much of Niall."
> 
> DINO are on their way home. There are some loose ends to tie up. And a new store opens in Charming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter, kids. I had SO much fun writing it. It's got a bit of everything: humor, feelz, and a surprise at the end. <3

It could be high school all over again. Sneaking behind the school on his lunch break, Juice makes out with Soledad Delgado by the emergency doors. Her small hands snake around to his plump ass, squeezing the cheeks.  
The kiss is easy. Practiced. Almost too much.  
From a sliver of eyelids, he makes sure she’s enjoying it. He’d hate to think she’s just going along with his proposal because he gives her free weed.  
Soledad tilts her head, her eyes large and tinged cannabis-pink, lazily seductive. She nudges his chin up with her own.  
“You’re so hot, papì” she whispers before latching on to his neck, a dark, mauve bruise expanding in the spot past her lips.  
  
Juice blinks. “You’re so hot, Juice,” Michael purrs.  
Okay, so maybe this isn’t EXACTLY like high school. Because Soledad Delgado had long curly hair and huge tits, and at the end of the school year Juice discovered she was sleeping with him only for the weed.  
She sure as hell wasn’t branding a python into his thigh and penetrating his core with a look of true devotion.  
Most of all, she didn’t smell like winter rain over the Pacific Ocean. Michael does, though.  
“You too, papì.”  
Some remnant of his identity pops out in the shaky reply. On and off he’s been called that in his life, and he wagers a bet Mike might get off on the pet name. (Ironically, Juice doesn’t speak Spanish. Hell, he speaks better Yiddish. But Michael is fluent).  
  
A cocked eyebrow and the provocative glance from under half-lidded eyes confirms Juice is not wrong.  
“You learn some Spanish, _carnal_ , and I think just talking to you might make me cream my pants like some tween.”  
Py pauses to kiss him, whispering his love for each part of Juice’s body in his mind.  
Juice whimpers.  
Salt in the air, salt on their skin. He licks it away with long sweeps from Py’s velvety red lips, his back trying to make a dent in the clubhouse wall as his lover melds with him.  
  
“Fuck, I miss you already, baby,” Michael sibilates, their foreheads touching.  
Juice meets his gaze, alight with fire like an arsonist proudly admiring his work.  
“Me too. I’m gonna ask Jax if I can ride down next week. Even if it’s just for one night. Maybe he’ll have some business to take care of there and I can gopher.”  
“That’d be awesome. I was going to ask Packer for a couple days off at the end of the month. That way I can come up here for 4 days.”  
Juice’s eyes are vivid with questions.  
Michael’s heart is full of answers.  
  
“I assume… _I can stay with you_?” Py’s pretty fucking sure he can, but it’s always safer to ask.  
“You assume correctly,” Juice answers with a caress of lips.  
“God,” Py sighs. “I can’t wait to be with you again. You fucking me into your mattress… but also,” his expression passes for a shy boy’s. Lashes fluttering, a blush rising. After all the filth they’ve said to each other, now a sense of propriety sets in? “I want to be inside you again.”  
  
The image spikes heat through Juice, his groin tightening from the memory. “Good thing you said you were a bottom.”  
Py smiles wickedly, a knowing stillness in his face, like it was obvious from the beginning that they would end up this way. “Well, I switch. You just looked so terrified I’d tear you in two I didn’t want to risk you backing out from fucking me.”  
“I kinda was, but I‘m glad I stayed. It didn’t disappoint.”  
  
Py aches for him again, it makes him swallow hard and his heart beat frantically. He’s absolutely drunk on Juice.  
“Oh fuck yeah it didn’t. Good thing you said it wouldn’t fit.”  
“I’m all about precision. A little gymnastics and a lot of lube go a long way.”  
  
Juice’s infectious grin sets the tone.  
Sometimes not saying a word says a million. They stare at each other. Not blinking. Juice allowing his eyes to be dazzled by this man before him.  
Christ, Py thinks. If Juice keeps looking at me like this, I might just fucking ask to transfer to SAMCRO right now.  
  
“I-“ Py stops himself. Something hooks into him in that moment, snags a hold in his aching chest and rips through. It almost takes his breath away.  
There are words that are growing legs, but he’s not ready to run with them yet.  
  
“Juan Carlos?” Py whispers, lashes fluttering.  
“What, papì?” Juice stuttering at hearing his proper name. He makes it a point to emphasize _papì_.

Mike looks like he went away for a sec. Juice wonders what was fogging his lover’s mind. Py grabs him by the cut, drawing himself to within a breath’s distance.  
“Just fucking kiss me ‘till I have to go.”  
_  
  
“Jesus, they can’t keep their hands off each other!” Tig watches, thumbs hooked into his belt buckle. He’s getting hard just imagining what kissing Py would be like.  
Jax and Ope throw a casual glance. The sight of the couple writhing against the side wall of the clubhouse makes Jax backhand Ope’s chest.  
“You and I used to be like that. What happened to us, boo?” Jax grins and then bursts into a chuckle.  
Ope chews on his tongue a second, only to gift him a withering smile. “If you want, I can suck you off in the bathroom.”  
Tig throws his head back in laughter, and Jackson shakes his head in resignation. “He’s all about the romance, Tig, what can I say?”  
  
“I bet Py’s still hard,” Tig chimes in a second later. “You think Juice would share him?”  
“Jesus, Tig…” Ope exclaims, twirling the rings on his left hand. “We need to put you on a leash.”  
Tigger doesn’t know why they’re surprised, this is HIM they’re taking about.  
“Hey, Ope, I’ve been leashed before and didn’t mind it one bit. Anyway, just for the record I’d take a swing at Juicey, too, just sayin’…”  
  
Opie holds a hand to his forehead, his long, blond hair swaying from side to side as he shakes his head. “Jesus Christ.”  
“Hey, Tig’s not wrong, Ope. I like me some dark meat, too, baby boy. Don’t think just cuz we’re together and you’re the poster child for the Aryan race … “ Jax jokes. “I’m not a racist. I don’t discriminate.”  
Oh holy hell! Ope’s had about enough. “All right, all right. Simmer down there, perverts.”  
  
Tig indicates the garage with a jerk of his head, just like they teach you to do in the movies. “I can’t take it anymore. Gonna go bust a nut in the work bathroom.”  
There’s a pale blue flash of amusement in Jax’s eyes. What the hell have they become this weekend?!  
  
“All right ladies, on that lovely note I’m gonna go take a piss.”  
“I bet you’re half-hard at least, Jackson, don’t deny it!” Tig yells after him. “This is some hot shit over here. Be careful where you aim!”  
“I’ll be sure to aim for the hole, Tig,” he winks, that Teller fucking smile breaking his face in half.  
“Yeah, you’re an expert at that,” Opie mutters in a flat tone.  
“Oh shit, Ope’s got jokes!” Tig doubles over.  
_  
  
Chibs falls back into the sofa with a soft plunge. His legs spread, letting his head lean to the left.  
Parker crosses his arms, pulling up a chair to sit himself right in front of him.  
“What crawled up your ass, Filip?” he asks, a few more creases in his forehead than usual. He pins him with a feral look, his curacao eyes ablaze.  
  
“Nothing,” the Scot mutters.  
“Bullshit.”  
The jealousy is written all over Chibs’ face like an unauthorized biography. Les has lived long enough to see this color- on himself and his other patches.  
“Stop shitting me, Chibs. You’ve been sulking since the party the other night. I had to console poor Chucky who thought you would fire him. For whatever godforsaken reason, you took apart the storage room in a fit of anger.”  
Filip pinches the bridge of his nose. Exhales.  
“I wasn’t mad at Chucky. I was just angry, and furious, and about to set the clubhouse on fire.”  
“I know,” Packer taps the pack of cigs on his knee. “It’s not like anyone noticed.”  
  
There’s a silence that ensues. Packer lights one fag, waiting for Telford to come to his senses. He takes his first drag.  
“This town should be made of softer, nicer buildings,” Filip replies, staring at something past Packer. “Sometimes it reminds me of Belfast.”  
Filip’s vision is gloomily painted with black memories. Fiona- Kerrianne… the lads back in Glasgow. How many people that he’s loved has he lost already in his life? What if loving Juice meant he’d lose him, too?  
  
What the hell is he on about? Packer thinks, resting his elbows on his thighs.  
“Yeah, Chibs. Sure. Sunny California and pastel-painted Main Street is exactly like grey, war-torn Belfast. Now would you tell me why you pulled me in here as soon as Juice and Py pulled up?”  
  
Les is the furthest thing from stupid and he figured it out last time he was up here. Chibs wants the boy, but he’s too fucking afraid of coming out with his feelings.  
The way Packer sees it, it’s no one’s fucking business who sleeps with whom. Or who _wants_ to sleep with whom. The Sons have never cared about that shit.  
But this bullshit right here, it ain’t gonna fly. Chibs has been a fucking downer this whole weekend so will he fess up already?  
  
“What do ye know, about this Python guy?”  
_And there it is_. “I vetted him,” Les replies. “Oregon vetted him. He’s great. Ex-navy intelligence, knows 4 languages. Can program and hack. Cooks a mean chili and overall he’s a pleasure to have with us. Polite and quiet. He’s our Juice, in a nutshell. Why do you care?”  
“No reason.”  
“Filip…” The tone says it all. _Come on, brother, out with it._  
  
“All right, Christ. He and Juice hooked up this weekend. I just want to know what one of mine are getting into, is all.”  
“Shouldn’t that be more Jax’s problem? And honestly, he, Ope, and Tig seem more than fine with it. So what’s your deal?”  
He wants to make him say it so Chibs can see what an asshole he’s being.  
  
“Skeletons in the closet you know of?”  
Okay, just ignore my question, Packer muses.  
“None. He smokes weed occasionally, drinks enough but never to fuck himself up too much. Doesn’t fuck the crow eaters. Mike had a girlfriend a year ago, but that ended pretty badly. Then a brief fling with this guy who came in to the shop. Other than that, I think he’s been single the past 8 months. Definitely not a player, if that’s what you’re worried about.”  
“Personality?”  
What, does Chibs want him to pull out the guy’s fucking CV?  
“He keeps to himself a lot when we’re not on club business. Not unfriendly- just usually got his nose in a book. He’s kinda shy. Also, he’s an orphan, his parents were killed in a car accident in Portland. I guess his grandmother raised him. So family and loyalty mean a lot to him.”  
“Great, so he’s a pity case, too.”  
  
Okay, Les is supportive and all but too much is too much.  
“Hey, Filip- whatever your issue with the guy is, it sounds personal. Michael’s a stand-up brother, always helps the club out when we need him. If Juice should be hooking up with anyone, it’s him. Dude’s a fucking saint.”  
“Whatever.”  
Leaning lightly into Chibs, he tilts his face towards his. The cigarette points accusingly.  
“Where I come from, there’s always a little ‘I’m jealous’ in every ‘Whatever’.”  
Filip scoffs, suddenly feeling warm. “With all due respect, Les, bugger off.”  
  
“Hey Filip, you’re the one who dragged me in here. Stop acting like a fucking toddler. Juice was eye-fucking you all night at the party and you ignored him. Now you’re pissed that Mike stepped in and took your place, simple as that.”  
“Juice has never looked at me that way. Don’t pretend he has. Don’t give me hope.”  
  
Packer throws one leg over the corner of the table. “You need to borrow my glasses? You fucking blind?”  
  
“What’s going on?” Jax interjects as he swaggers across the room.  
“We’re just waitin’ for Filip’s balls to drop,” Les quips.  
Falling into step beside him, Jax rests his hand on the top of the chair, his rings glistening in the lamplight.  
  
“This about Juice?” a deep furrow brackets his mouth.  
“Aye.” The Scot flinches, a surly curl to his lips. It’s useless to deny it now.  
  
Without even asking, Jax deftly slips a cigarette from Packer, tugging it out with his gleaming teeth. He lights it behind his palm, the zippo shutting with a chink of metal.  
“VP, I love you,” his tone demands Chibs’ attention. “But you need to own this shit. You’ve been a fucking nightmare this weekend.”  
  
“Jackie boy- “  
Silenced by his dark, angry expression, Chibs stills. Jax guides his gaze to the window with his fingertip.  
“Jackie boy, nothing. If you want Juice, man up and tell him. Because that kid out there is falling head over heels for Py. I haven’t seen him this happy in years, Chibs. _Years._ And from where I’m standing, a merry Juice is a useful Juice also to the club. You know how prone he is to depression. So if you’re not ready to commit to him in that way- I’m going to give that kid all the latitude he needs to make it work with Py. And I hope Packer can offer Michael the same.”  
  
Les crosses his arms across his broad chest, nodding. He doesn’t mean to take a hard line, but Chibs is being a dick.   
“Jax is right, Filip. Those two are good together. I haven’t seen Py this alive, either. I’m willing to give him a little wiggle room to see the kid as much as he can.”  
  
A warning cloud settles on Chibs’ features. “Aye,” he whispers, slamming his fist into the cushion.  
He knows. He knows how little it can take sometimes for the lad to break down. He knows he needs and deserves this. Is he mad at Juice for finding solace in the arms of another, or is he mad at himself for being a chickenshit?  
“A’m… I dinnae know… I huvnae telt… “  
  
The line of Jackson’s mouth tightens a little more, and Packer just shrugs, blowing air out of his nose.  
“Listen, Chibby. If you can’t bring Juice the same amount of happiness that Michael can, then let it go, brother. I don’t know what your deal is right now, what you’re afraid of. And this isn’t a goddamn shrink’s office, so I don’t even wanna get into it. But as President, I need this club running smoothly. I need my VP present and lucid and not acting like a fucking teenager. You scared Chucky half to death the other night. That can’t happen again.”  
  
Chibs’ shadowed eyes show tortured sadness, two pools of appeal. They don’t know… they can’t… the guys just wouldn’t understand. How could they? He's never told anyone.  
In a cemetery in Belfast is a grave without a headstone. Chibs dug it himself in the dead of night, blinded by whiskey and scalding tears. Later he carved their names into the weeping willow that served as a marker.  
Filip and Niall.  
When he buried his first love, a part of him was entombed there with him. A part he thought would never spark into life again.  
Jesus Christ, just uttering the name in his mind’s voice makes it burn on his tongue as if it were uttered in prayer. Juice reminds him so much of Niall. He can’t… He can’t risk…  
“Yer right, Jackie Boy. I’m sorry. I’ll deal with it,” Filip murmurs, blinking back liquid heat.  
  
Jax slaps his thigh. “All right, then. I’m gonna go piss, and then I’m gonna head back out there. Try to keep Tig from raping Python.”  
Packer breaks into a chortle, still studying Chibs intently. There’s more to this story, he thinks, but the DINOs need to hit the road. It’ll be for another time. Hopefully the Scot can deal with whatever ghosts are haunting him.  
_  
  
The bell on the door rings lightly as he crosses the threshold. Chucky treads with ballerina steps, pirouetting in admiration at the wonderful assortment of books lining the walls.  
“Mon Dieu,” he says to himself, grinning like a child in a candy store. We needed a new bookstore in town! he thinks. And what an establishment!   
  
A breath later a tall, dark man materializes from behind the counter. He’s wearing all black, from his suit to his shirt. Even his tie blends in perfectly. It would hardly go noticed if not for the white skull on the knot.   
The inky garments are a stark contrast to the alabaster of his skin, (except to where some real ink peeks out over the collar).   
  
Chucky swivels to look at the proprietor, his whole face spread in a smile.  
“Welcome to Odds of Even. How can I be of service?” The voice is deep. The man’s onyx eyes even more so, lined with kajal to emphasize their mystery. He bends his head to study the strange man with plastic hands grinning at him.  
  
“I must compliment you on the unusual, and if you permit me to say, _eclectic_ choice of literature you have on offer.”  
The man at the register is not known for his bubbly personality. But there’s something about this patron that intrigues him. Since he opened he’s only had a dozen customers, none this… sophisticated.  
  
“I pride myself in the unusual, sir. Thank you for noticing. How can I assist you today?”  
His arms open as a pastor's would- but Chucky gets the feeling the swastika tattoos on his inner wrists have little to do with preaching of the conventional kind.  
The man notices Chucky’s inquisitive stare.  
  
“These?” He points. “I apologize. I am working on their removal. Remnants of a past life. Shedding old skin. It doesn’t reflect who I truly am, I assure you. And I hope it won’t turn you off to my little literary haven.”  
Chucky pulls back his spine and lifts his bearded jaw.  
“Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all, “ he replies.  
  
For the first time in a long time, the man allows the corners of his mouth to stretch into a beam.  
“My word. _‘Henry VI, Part 2, act 3._ Impressive. What is your name, sir?”  
“Charles,” he replies, almost too quickly.  
  
Chucky forgets himself at times. But he’s always wary of extending a hand. When the owner does, he accepts and shakes it firmly, appreciating that the other doesn’t cringe or shy away.  
“I’m Ronald. Ronald Tully.”  
Turning at the wrist gently while still in his grasp, Tully remarks with a lifted brow:  
“I’m sure these hands are a tale as riveting as anything Shakespeare might have written.”  
Chucky blushes. He would hide the heat in his face if he could. “My tale, sir, would cure deafness.”  
  
The rich outline of the man’s shoulders shakes with laughter. _Who is this?!  
_“Ah, The Tempest. You’re incredibly well read, Charles. So is it Shakespeare you seek? Or something… spicier?”  
A flick of his gaze towards the erotica section makes a breath hitch in Chucky’s chest. Why is he suddenly feeling so warm?!  
“Perhaps… another time. Today what I seek is a copy of Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, volume 3.”  
  
Tully turns with a quick snap, fingers to his temples. “Ah yes. À la recherche du temps perdu, magnificent work. Un moment…”  
Rubbing his fake hands together in glee, Chucky can’t stop smiling. Who would have said that someone like this would be- his thoughts are stuttering. And this new shop- in the middle of Charming?!  
“En anglais ou en français?” Ron’s smirk is alluring. “I have both.”  
“Je prends les deux. Je vous remercie.” _I’ll take both, thank you.  
_“Très bien, en espèces ou par carte de crédit?” they continue in French. _Cash or credit card?  
  
_A fifty slides across the counter. Tully wraps the books with care, his long fingers tying off the bow on the paper packaging.  
Handing Chucky his change, he gives him a conspiratorial wink. The touch lingers a second longer than it should.  
“I truly appreciate your business, Charles. I hope you’ll return soon, grace me with your presence once more. You’ve left me quite curious about the events leading up to your metacarpal transformation.”  
  
Charles swallows hard. Darts his attention from the man’s beautiful eyes to the floor.  
“Thank you, Ronald. I shall indeed return. Perhaps to peruse your erotica section as well.” Chucky thinks his vision is blurring. Is the room starting to spin?  
“I… I also like the name of your shop. Brilliant choice.”  
  
Pushing his black hair back from his face, Tully sighs. “Thank you, Charles. I thought of calling it Apple of Sodom, but I thought I might attract the _right_ people.”  
The expression on Tully’s face is priceless.  
  
Chucky thinks he might have fallen in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KIDS I hope you liked it. Let me feel the love, I need some today. My friend's father died from the virus two days ago and I need some positivity. So if you enjoyed this, please kudo (if it's your first time reading) or comment. I'll love you for it! <3 
> 
> And allow me this Ron/Marilyn hybrid. I NEED HIM!!  
> References to Marilyn’s songs (the name of the shop) and the Shakespeare ones are already cited by Tully directly in the story.


	4. Follow the Storm Out to the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy visits Tig at his house, where they have a heart-to-heart and Hap makes an unexpected confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note: At the end there is some Hap/Tig soft porn. Hap's also incredibly sweet to Tig, it gets a bit sentimental. If you don't ship them and can't get behind it/creeps you out, you can skip this chapter, it won't affect the story progressing if not for perhaps the mention in future chapters of them kind of being an item. I'd still read the first part at least, though, because their banter is fun. Then there's a break where they go inside and that's where the sexing starts, so decide for yourself! :) *
> 
> I might have cried a little during this. I'm not gonna lie. At the beginning I was laughing because Tig and by the end I was weeping from feelz. I really hope you love this as much as I do!

The gate swings inward with a squeak. Tig looks up at the sound, the instinct to reach for his gun making him twitch his hand. When he sees it’s only Hap, his features relax.  
“Hey brother.”  
“Hey Tig.”  
  
Hap takes the stones lining his yard with careful steps and reaches the patio.  
“What brings you by?” he asks.  
“You left your glasses back at the clubhouse.” He waves them in the air like a trophy before handing them over.  
Tig’s sweeping up leaves. He rests his hand on the top of the broom and leans on it for support.  
  
“Oh shit man, thanks.” Grabbing them with two fingers, he lays the Ray Bans carefully on the table.  
“You didn’t have to come by, I woulda picked ‘em up later.”  
“No problem. I kinda wanted to check in on you. You left in such a hurry after DINO took off. You okay, brother?” Hap’s blinking less. Like he’s worried about something. The toothpick’s dangling precariously from his lips.  
  
“Thanks, brother. Appreciate it.”  
No, Tig’s not not okay. Not by a long shot. But he’s very surprised Hap noticed. Not sure he wants to discuss it, especially since his fellow Son isn’t really about ‘emotions’.  
“Yeah… I mean, not really. But don’t worry about it, brother. I just wanted to be alone is all.” Tig is purposely vague.  
  
Hap’s expression darkens with an unreadable sentiment, his face falling. “Sorry, I’ll take off then.” He kicks a pebble with his scuffed boot.   
  
Shit. Wait.  
Tig’s curious now, brow furrowing from the change in tone. Does he _want_ to stay?!  
“No no. Hang on. Wanna throw back a beer before you go?” He points to the house with his thumb.  
  
“Yeah, thanks,” the light catches again in Happy’s wicked gaze. “Mind if we stay out here, though? It's such a nice afternoon.”  
“All right, I’ll be right back. Have a seat, man.”  
  
Hap surveys the yard when Tig disappears inside. “Where’s the pup?”  
He loves dogs, and the rescue they saved from that fighting ring has become the sweetest thing.  
“She’s asleep inside,” Tig shouts from the kitchen, the fridge door clanging shut. “Not much of a guard dog. More of a lap dog now,” he chuckles.  
  
They pour themselves into his outdoor love seat, each with a beer cooling his palm.  
“So what’s going on?” Hap meets his look and doesn’t stray.  
“I dunno,” Tig shrugs, twirling the cap in his left hand. His eyes are stormy.  
“I guess it was just seeing Juice all happy with Py. Made me reflect on how fucking alone I am.”  
  
Hap’s attention is fully on Tig now, brow wrinkled. “Yeah, I can see how they’d evoke some conflicting emotion in people. I mean, they were pretty into each other.”  
Yeah, they were. He bends towards Hap, the glass bottles striking in a toast.  
“Cheers, man.”  
“Cheers, brother.”  
  
Leaning back, Tig opens his legs slightly and lets his back mold into the wicker. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. There's jasmine in the air, must be from his neighbor's plants.  
“You know what? I want that. I haven’t had that in so long and I want that.” He says it like he himself needs the convincing.   
  
Hap rolls the toothpick in his mouth, lip curling. “What, precisely? A fuck buddy in SAMDINO?”  
“No.” Tig stops. “Well, _yeah_. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I want _that kind of connection_. Ope and Jax have it.”  
  
Happy’s starting to understand the undertone to this conversation. He tips his head back and takes a long sip. Alcohol can only make this go easier.   
“Yeah, but Ope and Jax grew up together,” one palm turns up as if the point was obvious. “They were best friends before they hooked up.”  
“Well Juice and Py seem to have it, and in the time it would take for your food to get cold.”  
  
So that’s what’s been buggin’ him, Lowman thinks. He’s a little jealous? Or is it more envy?  
Happy reaches, squeezing his friend’s forearm. There’s something magnetic in Tig’s liquid gaze, and Hap can’t force himself to look away.  
He clears his throat. “That’s different. That’s like fate, you know?”  
“What?” Tig cocks a black eyebrow.  
  
“Fate. Their paths were meant to meet in this moment. Perhaps Chibs stalling… it was all part of a plan.”  
“Since when do you believe in fate?”  
“Since always, man.” Hap stares, his obsidian eyes blacked out in seriousness. Twisting his lip up, he bites into it.  
"I think we've got that one person out there, you know? That's like supposed to make us our best self."  
"Like a soulmate?" Tig suggests.   
"Something like that."   
  
Well shit.  
“I never pegged you for someone this deep,” Tig states with some disbelief.  
“What, just cuz I’m a stone-cold killer I can’t have a soul?” Happy’s grin briefly flashes, and it makes Tig start. “I’m actually sensitive, Tig.”  
  
Okay, Tig may be in awe. This guy… they’ve been friends for years. This is the first time he’s showed genuine concern, club shit aside. Sure, they haven’t exactly been close, especially when Hap was a nomad. And yet here he is, the only guy of the bunch who bothered to come over and console him, especially because he fucking noticed something was wrong!  
  
‘We don’t really talk, do we? We just contradict each other,” Tig chuckles.  
“I’m not contradicting you at all, Tiggy. I’m agreeing with your sentiment.” He regards him with understanding.   
Tig sees something new etched into that normally stony face.  
  
“Who are you, Hap?” It’s a rhetorical question, and it isn’t at all.  
“Listen," Hap continues. "We’re all aware you’re the club perv and all…”  
Tig raises a finger. “Wait a sec. By day I’m the club perv. By night I’m…  
“ _Even more the club perv_ **!”** they say in unison, bursting out into laughter.  
  
A tangle of warmth, affection, and devotion follows one another in quick succession on Happy’s face. He clears his throat when they settle down again.  
“You may be smiling, Tig, but I’m not stupid. I can see the sadness in your eyes. And you’re about way more than just getting off. I saw how hard you love, man. Your kids? When Dawn died, that broke something in you. First thing you did was try to get Fawn safe.”  
Jesus Christ. Dawn. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about her. Not one day.  
  
“Yeah,” Tig sniffles, blinking back hot tears. “No one comes back from something like that, Hap. Not sanely. And I was already riding that line pretty hard.”  
“Yeah, I know. I know. But you deserve happiness. You’ve got a good heart, man.”  
  
Hap tilts his head, lets a hand close over the outside of Tig’s thigh. The caress sends a shiver through them both.  
Tig looks at it, the touch reassuring and also... electric. He lets it rest there, something stirring inside him.   
  
“I don’t think we’ve ever talked this long,” Tig notes, flitting his gaze from Hap to his patio floor.  
“No, we haven’t,” Hap agrees, conscious of how warm Tig is under his palm.  
“It’s nice.”  
“Yeah, it is.”  
The men stare at each other across a sudden ringing silence. Hap’s face captures an intense, secret expression.  
Tig opens his mouth to say something when he gets cut off.  
  
“Tiggy…”  
“What, brother?” he says breathlessly.  
  
The hand moves from his thigh to his cheek, Hap cupping it before giving it a gentle pat. “What’s dimming those baby blues of yours? Are you crushing on Py? Cuz he looks rather taken. Hate to burst your bubble.”  
The toothpick travels from the right side of his mouth to the left. Reluctantly he lets it drop and Tig fights the urge to grab his hand back.  
What the hell is going on?! Is that what Hap wants to know? If his heart is taken?  
  
“Nah, man. Guy’s got the most beautiful dick, though. Have you ever seen a cock so beautiful you cried?” A lame attempt at levity, but it works momentarily.  
“Yeah. Once,” Hap chuckles. “My old roommate. It was a shame, though, the guy like barely bathed.”  
“Oh my god, that’s disgusting.”  
“Yeah, it was,” he replies tightly.  
  
“I have to admit, seeing Py’s dick, that fulfilled one of my boyhood fantasies. I’d never seen a 10-incher in person before.”  
Happy’s fingers scrape part of the label, holding onto the bottle so tightly his knuckles turn white. The words are right there, Jesus Christ. It’s like he needs a fucking crowbar to free them.  
“I’m sorry I missed that,” is the best he can do.  
  
Tig spreads his arms regretfully. “He’s sending me a dick pic, I’ll show you. I wanted a selfie with it, but Juice got all pissy.”  
Instead of edging away, Hap inches towards him. “So is that the problem? You got a thing for Juice?”  
  
Long lashes blink up at him.  
Okay, Tig thinks. Is he gonna ask me about every guy in the club? Shit. It’s like his veins run lightning. Tig's temples are beating wildly.  
  
“Juicy? No. I mean, not my type.”  
  
For a moment Hap’s too shocked to move. The toothpick almost falls from his lips. “Not your type? Have you not seen his body? Those gorgeous brown eyes? The dimples? That smile? And that sweet ass?”  
“Okay, Hap. Simmer down. Didn’t need a laundry list of his best features,” Tig sniggers.  
“Sorry, I’ve got a soft spot for fiery brunettes,” he admits, shooting him a nervous glance of appreciation.   
  
“Well… I’d feel weird about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’d hit that right now. But now he’s got Py and the whole Chibs thing. It’s too much drama, brother.”  
  
The bottle chinks against the table. Hap downed the last of it, wiping his frothy lips. He lets himself drop to the left, that much closer to Tig.  
“Can you keep a secret?”  
“That’s kinda my thing if you haven’t noticed.” And Jesus, how many are locked away in his mind’s locker.  
  
“Juice and I… “ Hap lets his voice trail off, his index finger playing with the rip in his jeans.  
  
Holy shit! Tigger lets out a wicked laugh. “What?!”  
“Yeah. Just happened once, last year. Remember when his bike broke down? I picked him up in the van. Dropped him home. He invited me in, you know, as a sign of gratitude.”  
“And he fucked you? Exactly how grateful was he?” Tig quips.  
  
Rocking with silent laughter, Hap grabs his stomach.  
“No man, it wasn’t like that. It was one of those weird things. He offered me a beer. We got to talking. Before we knew it, we’re looking at each other. It’s 2 am, the booze kicking in. We said fuck it and ended up in his bedroom.”  
“You lucky bastard,” Tig eyes widening.  
  
Not sure why he’s telling this story, but seeing he’s got Tig’s attention, Happy continues. “Yeah, we both promised not to tell anyone. Didn’t want a one-night stand to make shit weird in the club, you know?”  
“So how was he?” a ripple of envy to his voice.  
“Incredible. I mean he can really get freaky in bed.” The tone is very convincing. “Plus, his place is spotless. I think I got turned on by all the hygiene.”  
“You are a freak in your own right, Hap,” Tig hoots.  
“I like things tidy, what can I say?”  
  
Hap remembers something and adds it on as an afterthought. The kid is due that much.  
“But he was sweet. Really sweet. That’s why I like him and Py together. It’s like they found their other half, you know? You can tell.”  
Tig wags his finger and slaps his knee. “Thank you for ruining that for me. Now if I ever had the urge to hit that, you’ve made me feel guilty.”  
“Hey-“  
“I’m kidding” Tig waves, finishing his bottle as well. “I wasn’t gonna try anything with him, anyway. They’re cute together, even I have to admit.”  
  
Hap pauses uncertainly. Looks to his hand and then back up to Tig. For a second an innocence possesses him.  
“You’re cute when you’re sad."  
“What?” Tig mutters, suddenly embarrassed. His thoughts fall over one another.   
“You heard me.” There’s almost an air of challenge now.  
  
“Are you… ?”  
Skimming the space between them, he’s only now aware that their knees are touching.  
Why are you sitting so close to me? Tig wants to ask, but stops himself because he doesn’t mind. The rush of blood to his cock confirms something is definitely pleasant in this situation.  
  
They bump shoulders.  
“Would it be the craziest thing? You and me?”  
“Are you serious?” Tig manages, voice hoarse, eyes dilated in interest. “Is this why you came over?”  
  
Hap nods innocently, like a kid would. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it. Saw how worked up you got this weekend. Tell me you got nothin’ right now? Zero?”  
Jesus, Hap’s all dreamy and musing. Where’s the sociopath he knows and loves?  
“Maybe. A little. I haven’t thought about you that way, I mean... not seriously.”  
“You sure?”  
“I’m not.” Tig admits. “Okay, maybe I have. I just thought…”  
This is Hap. Tig convinced they were just the two pariahs of the club, it wouldn’t have crossed his mind to make a move.   
  
“Listen, the way I see it. Why not? You remember that time you told me, ‘ _You know why I like teaming up with you Hap? Because when we do, I’m the normal one._ ’ Well, we’re getting along now. I’m a freak. You’re less of a freak, but let’s be honest… you give me a run for my money. Brother, I love you. And we’re both alone and horny.”  
  
Oh my god!   
“How can you be worried about getting laid at a time like this?" Tig exclaims. "And Jesus, I can’t believe _I’m_ saying that!”  
Hap half-shrugs.   
“I don’t have much else going on right now,” Happy provokes. “And how can you take that off the table? That’s all we’ve been talking about.”  
“Yeah, but I was also talking about a connection.”  
  
Twisting his body so they’re face to face, Tig reads an excitement adding shine to his eyes.  
“Aren’t we connecting? I like you, Tig. Always have.”  
“Yeah, course. You’re a great friend, brother.”  
  
It’s all coming at Tig at once, and it’s a little overwhelming is all. It’s not that he doesn’t want to… that he wouldn’t… is he short of breath?  
  
“You keep saying that we’re friends, Tig, but since I’ve mentioned it, you look at me for a moment too long for only that to be true.’

Haps right. He’s absolutely fucking right and the throbbing hardness in his pants ain't lying.   
“What am I supposed to do with this?”  
“You talking about me telling you how I feel? Or that boner in your pants?" Hap smirks.  
"Both." Tig tugs on his goatee, thinking he must be dreaming.   
  
"I dunno? Fuck me?”  
“Why is that always your answer to everything?” Tig gives him a ghost of a grin, a greedy sparkle to his eyes.  
“Because I don’t know what else to say. And I enjoy fucking,” He winks.  
  
“Are… are you serious?”  
“Yeah man, of course I am. Look, we’re so terrifying no one else is gonna hook up with us in SAMCRO. Even a killer like me needs a little affection.”  
  
Well, I’ll be damned, Tig muses. Happy Lowman. “Could you give me some time to think about it?”  
“Come on, old man,” he nudges him. “Want me to show you references?”  
  
“I might be drunk…” Tig fists into his hair.  
“You’re not.”  
“This might actually… “  
“Come on, dude. One time. No obligation. First taste’s free. If you like it after that, you buy it.”  
  
Jesus Christ. If that’s not the most interesting and open proposition Tig’s ever gotten.  
“You are such a surprise, Hap. Not what I was fucking expecting when you dropped off my glasses.”  
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”  
  
Grabbing him by the cut, Tig gets to within an inch of his face. “Congratulations. You actually convinced me to sleep with you.”  
“I think it’ll be fun.”  
Tig’s mouth trembles with a need to smile. “You keep that toothpick in while you’re doing it?”  
Clucking his tongue, Hap looks insulted. “The only time I ever take it out is to give head. I fucking sleep with this thing in, man.”  
  
Jesus Christ. “All right, cowboy. Let’s go. Show me what you’re made of.”  
_  
  
One would think two self-proclaimed “freaks” would fall on one another like rabid wolves. Instead, with a voice so quiet you could drown it out by exhaling, Hap begs Tig to surrender.  
“Lie back. Look at me.”  
  
Tracing the length of his face gently with a shaky pinky finger, all sorts of thoughts jab and poke at Tig. It’s static and then noise, like sharp utensils falling onto marble.  
Shit. Happy Lowman. This was all so fucking indisputable. What was he, blind?  
How right does this suddenly appear?  
How didn’t he realize sooner that maybe the perfect fucking fit to his misshapen, missing puzzle piece was right in front of him this whole time?  
Equally misshapen. Equally broken.  
  
Licking up the hollow of his throat to his bearded chin, Hap passes his tongue teasingly over Tig’s parted lips. The moist tip of Tig's muscle flicks back and pulls away.  
“Sorry, Tig. I’m not much for kissing. Not at first. Gimme a minute, brother.”

“Yeah… yeah… “ Tig pants. “Sorry... reflex. It’s okay, baby. We can take it slow. Do what you feel comfortable doing.”  
  
“Thanks,” he whispers, dropping back down to take a bite out of Tig’s petal lip, the toothpick always wedged into the corner of his mouth.  
Tig lightly bucks at the prick of pain. The sliver of wood pressing against there is really fucking sexy. His body shudders in want.  
“Shit, Hap… “  
  
Happy is taking things deliberately slow. Almost as if he’s trying to convince Tig that he’s got a heart. That he can own his feelings, too, and not just tunnel into a crow eater with no regard for her pleasure, nutting first in 7 minutes.  
Tig’s thoughts aren’t as even anymore, he’s so fucking hard it’s making his brain fizzle. He’s drunk on Hap’s aftershave, on the feel of his chiseled body quivering against him.  
  
He reaches for his junk, about to work his boner, when Hap stops him.  
“Touch me, Tiggy.”  
His brain wants Tig’s dick, but he fingers his tattoos instead, curling his fingers over the one on his neck. Tig’s nipples harden under the caress.  
Hap grabs him by the wrists, rubbing his palms over his massive chest.  
“Can I?” Tig asks permission in a lust-strained voice, eyes riveted on Hap’s ample erection.

“Fuck yeah,” he replies softly, lungs begging for air.  
Keeping his right hand against his pecs, he inches the other to his cock. He clasps over it using Tig’s palm and squeezes; drags back and forth until the glans moistens.  
“Jesus Hap…”  
“Fuck… feels so good, Tiggy.”  
Another squeeze and a light tug and Hap groans, a rumble in his chest.   
  
“I want you, Hap,” Tig whimpers, lower back arched in burning desire. “Lemme taste you.”  
_  
  
Enormous hands sift Tig’s black curls in time to his dips. Handling his balls with one hand, Tig pushes his face pubes deep.  
“Aww fuck, Tiggy…” Happy moans. “Just like that, sweetheart.”  
  
There’s a dreamy intimacy to all this. Happy can’t believe he’s finally with Tig. Everything just feels… right. A part of him, a part that was very dark, suddenly glows brighter.  
  
Orgasm drifts towards Hap’s heat like smoke to a vent and when his nerves fire, his sex on the verge of release, he eases Tig off with a nudge.  
“Sorry baby, d’I do something wrong?” Tig's face is coated in spit, lips bruised. Cool air hit’s Hap’s wet dick as he removes himself, Tig kitten licking the tip.  
“Jesus Christ, Tig. No. It was fucking amazing.”  
Tig’s satisfied with himself, but now he’s a wreck, too. Hap sees it, that need scratching its way to the surface from under the black ice that had hardened Tig’s soul.  
  
“I don’t wanna come, not yet,” Happy gasps. “Wanna be inside you, Tig.” The periwinkle blink says it all.  
It’s still too easy. Too light. Now’s the time to step things up.  
“Yeah. Fuck me, baby, _please_ ,” his heavy voice begs as the request pricks the air and makes it bleed desire.  
  
Hap doesn’t need to be asked twice. There’s a shuffle of sheets, insufficient to cover their labored breathing. He presses his hands into the springs below, his breath hot against Tig’s ear.  
“Open for me, baby.”  
  
The connection is tested by touch, by unspoken words- they let their eyes speak. A crinkle of a wrapper and a dollop of lube. The time to find the right angle. Tig shuts his eyes, a smile on his bit lips as he accepts Hap’s length.  
“Oh shit…” Tig grunts, his entire body on fire.  
Hap’s back ripples, dressed only in goosebumps, as he disappears inside him.  
  
Again, their lovemaking is slow. As if time had stopped just for them- gifting them the captivation they deserve to have for one another.  
Lust slithers between Tig’s temples when Hap explores his depths, the familiar tingling sensation spreading through his limbs, muddying his thoughts.  
  
Greedily his warmth takes whatever Hap can give him, and Christ if Tig doesn’t want it all.  
“You’re so perfect, sweetheart,” Hap murmurs against him.  
  
There’s a light sneaking into the inky blackness behind Tig’s lids. He wraps his legs around him possessively, coaxing him in deeper with nail and tooth.

Tig’s breath stalls. Jesus he’s close… so fucking close. Hap picks up on it and leans on the side of stimulation... angles down for a closed-lip kiss as he massages Tig’s prostate with the tip.  
Now he’s ready.  
“Look at me. Look at me, Tiggy. I see _you_ , brother. Let go. Just let go.”

Glimpses of the taut form moving atop him, the loving tenderness moistening Happy’s coffee eyes… Christ if it’s not making him tear up!  
When was the last time someone showed him such tenderness? When was the last time someone made him feel like he was worshipping his body and was this thoughtful of _his_ needs?!  
  
Tig comes a second later with a flutter of eyelash and blasphemous wishes on his tongue. The tears flow and Jesus Christ, he can’t make them stop. He’s being wrung from the inside out, stuck between the sunset of his sadness and the dawn of his new awakening.   
These tears are like a baptism.   
Happy grips his biceps, whispering something incomprehensible as he kisses away the salty drops from his cheeks.  
He gets why he’s crying. He does. Tigger’s had all this shit locked up inside, thinking nobody cared. That he didn’t deserve love. That he had failed everyone in his life.   
Fuck that.  
  
“Hap, hap…” Tig whimpers, sucking and nipping avidly at his flesh, fingering into his back in desperate want.   
“Come for me, baby, come for me” Tigger begs him, _needing_ him to finish so also he can give him this… this BLISS.  
  
Happy sinks back into him, a sweaty, frenzied mess of a man panting against his neck.  
“Tiggy I’m close…” he mewls.  
“Cum for me baby, cum for me…”   
Tig can feel the tremble, his cock jerking inside him.  
“Jesus fuck…” Hap sighs.   
He collapses against Tig, red half moons stamped all over his glistening thighs.  
_  
  
A short time later, when their pulses have synched up and the room has stopped spinning, Tig bends his head to stare up at the ceiling.  
The heat from Hap’s body is like a torch next to him. He drags a finger with lazy swipes down Tig’s arm, watching him from a side pose.   
  
Fuck if Tig isn’t beautiful, he thinks. Probably he’s just blissed out from the sex, but he knows that’s not really the case. This was years in coming.  
  
“You good, baby?” Hap asks.  
“Oh yeah, sweetheart. Perfect. “  
Tig blinks back at him, stars in his gaze. He's wondering how he didn’t know that the one thing he didn’t want... was actually the one he needed most.  
  
Tig wants to tell Hap that he’d take fifty years of not being his for just one day of doing so if it could be like this.  
But he doesn’t.  
He wants to tell him that for the first time since Dawn’s death, he felt he could taste the air. Breathe freely.  
But he doesn’t.  
  
What he does do is lean over and kiss Happy like he’s never been kissed before in his life.  
And Hap finally lets him.  
  
Everything means nothing, and nothing is what they have to lose. They find serenity in their common solace.  
  
When they break, Hap puts the toothpick back in his mouth. Pats his left pec, beckoning Tig to rest his head there. He kisses him on top of his damp curls, their pillow talk a story.  
Hap tells him about the first time he went to the ocean, before his Mom got sick. How he never forgot the way the foam from the waves would sizzle away. It would be one of the last time’s he’d see his mother happy and carefree. Giggling at how much the sea amused him.  
  
“That’s beautiful, brother,” Tig whispers, something inside him twisting up on itself. Memories trickle back- taking the girls to the lake. Laughter, hot dogs. The smell of suncream and bug spray. One hand splayed over Hap’s thrumming heart, he lowers his chin and pecks him there.  
  
“You know Tig,” Hap exhales. “The pale blue of the water pooling at my bare feet, that water was just like your eyes.”  
Tig swallows hard. Jesus Christ. What’s he doing to him?!  
He boldly meets his adoring gaze.  
“The ocean is so much prettier,” Tig comments, the emotion choking him. “I’ve got nothing on something so incredible.”  
Clamped lips imprison the rest of what he wants to say. That Hap is breathtaking himself. That Tig hasn't felt such joy in decades.   
  
“No, brother,” Hap shakes his head, swallowing the lump in his own throat with visible effort. “You can only capture such beauty in the sky, the sea, and the iris. You’re as beautiful as anything nature could make. I’ll take you to the ocean one day, Tiggy, and I’ll prove it to you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE where this story is going and I am so excited about it, that it was born out of something I thought would never continue.  
> I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. Thanks for all the support so far!


	5. Blue of Noon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jax's help, Chibs decides what to do about Juice. Chucky receives an unexpected visit from Ron Tully at TM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all safe and healthy. Stay strong, everyone!  
> Welcome to Crack Ship Cruiselines, dear readers. If you're still here I thank you.

It’s a blissfully quiet Monday at TM, appreciated by the men after a weekend of hard partying with SAMDINO.  
Tig and Juice have their hands on a chopper, one fixing the clutch and the other checking its back tire. Some of the prospects study something under a Chevy’s hood.  
Over their light chatter, you can hear birds chirping and the distant sound of traffic. There's finally a sense of peace in the air.   
  
Jax and Chibs are taking a smoke break on the patio, Jax’s back against the beam as his lips pucker for a drag. He seems particularly pensive, like a man whose flash scales the weight of a dozen men.  
In fact, it’s precisely so.  
  
“You feelin’ better, VP?” Jax’s brow knits, the smoke snaking between them before dissipating.  
“Aye.”  
The vacant look and trembling lip on Chibs say otherwise. His gaze flits from Jax to the garage. It’s as if Juice can sense someone’s thinking about him. When he lifts his head, he meets Filip’s directly. More than ever, there’s a distance between them measuring way more than a parking lot.  
  
“Sorry, brother, I’m not convinced.”  
Lies are easy to feed to others. To yourself? Not so much. You’ve still got to square yourself in the mirror every morning.  
“I dinnae know, Jackie. I dinnae feel like myself. This thing with Juice has got me all twisted up.” He clasps his hands together and sighs.  
  
Jax rolls off the beam and takes a seat next to Chibs, propping his feet on top of the table’s bench. He rubs his beard, putting a comforting hand over Chibs’ knee.  
“I’m sorry I laid into you like that yesterday, brother. I know this ain’t easy for you.”  
  
Chibs waves it away, his face ashen. “It’s all right, Jackie. I deserved it. I was acting like a wean.”  
“So where you at now? With Juice I mean,” Jax sniffles, running a hand under his nose.  
“You thinkin’ of telling him how you feel? Cuz I need to tell you, brother, he has mad love for you. But I can’t let this shit get messy. We have enough outside drama, we don’t need any of our own.”  
  
Packer tried to tell him this same thing. Shit. Why is it so hard for Filip to believe Juicy could love him? What exactly blinds him to the reality everyone else’s discerning eyes see?  
“Dinnae matter now. He’s got Py.”  
  
With a shake of his head, Jax dispels that notion.  
“I’ll give you that the thing with Py might be fucking with his head right now. And I saw that they’re good together. But Py’s 5 hours away. You’re here. All I’m sayin’ is, the kids wanna drive up and back to see each other, I’m fine with it. They’re happy. But I’d rather have Juice’s head and heart here, with you. If that’s still possible.”  
A protective hand closes over Chib’s shoulder. The VP leans into it, tears welling in his cloudy eyes.  
“I love him, Jax. But I dinnae know how to fix this.”  
  
Jax knows what he said yesterday, and he stands by it. But he sees how much this is tearing up Chibs, and the relationship he and Juice had is now strained. Two situations which are not ideal. Not for them, and not for the club.  
Jax brackets Chibs’ head, kissing him on the forehead.  
“You need to talk to him, brother. And pronto. This morning he already asked me for a day off so he can ride down to DINO. I need to know what I should be doing here. This shit can’t get any worse, right? So would you do me a favor and tell him how you feel? for me? Please?”  
  
There’s an anchor of truth in all this, and it’s sinking along with Chibs' resolve. What Jax is suggesting is right. It won’t be easy, but it’s the correct and mature thing to do for all.  
“I’ll do it. However it goes, at least we’ll know how to move forward.”  
  
Jax’s smile is paternal. He pats Chibs’ thigh and exhales audibly. “One way or another it’ll work out, brother.”  
“I know, Jackie Boy,” he murmurs. “I know.”  
From his perch on top of the picnic table, Chib’s head turns towards an engine noise. Jax follows the movement with a fluid swivel.   
  
A black vehicle pulls into the lot, and the whole garage stills.   
It’s a custom 1969 Lincoln Continental. Black paint, blood red velvet interior. A diamond-studded skull for a hood ornament.  
  
“Who the hell is that?!” Chibs asks, jaw slack. All their attention is riveted by the unusual car.  
  
When Jax sees who steps out of it, he chortles. “Who’s the undertaker?”  
It’s then that Chibs’ eyebrow darts to his hairline. “Oh, Jackie Boy, I think I know. Come on,” he slaps him on the bicep playfully.  
“Let’s go say hi,” he winks.  
  
Ron Tully adjusts his suit jacket once he’s stepped out, the fabric hugging his powerful set of shoulders. Smoothing down the lapels with long strokes, he looks around the lot. His sharp gaze spots the office, nostrils flaring as if he’s testing the air for signs of danger.  
A package sits nestled on the front seat, black opaque stock paper with a white satin ribbon tied into a perfect bow.  
Ron collects it, fingers wrapped around its edge with a delicacy offered a lover. As if the slightest brusque movement might offend it.  
  
“Gentlemen, good afternoon.” Once he’s softly closed the car door, he turns on his heel.  
Jax and Chibs meet his smile with equally dazzling grins and outstretched hands. Tully’s fair skin magnifies the inky blackness of his eyes, his face almost translucent.  
What a strange guy, Jax muses as he sizes him up. Tully appraises him in kind, impressed with the man’s classic good looks.  
  
“Welcome to TM,” Jax greets him. “I’m Jax Teller.”  
“You must be the T in the TM. My name is Ronald Tully. I’m the proprietor of a bookstore in downtown Charming. Odds of Even. Recent opening.”  
  
When Chibs shakes his hand, he can’t help but notice the tattoos, which confirms his suspicions. He throws Jax a quick glance, the tension in his face meaning he duly noted the same.  
  
“Filip Telford.”  
“My pleasure, Filip.” Ron doesn’t unglue his eyes from him, doesn't even squint. He'd know that Glasgow smile anywhere.   
  
There’s an air of familiarity, and it’s unspoken between them. Jax wonders what the hell is going on. What's making Filip swallow with visible difficulty?  
Tully smiles to himself. How far will he take the charade of them not knowing one another?  
  
“How can we help you?” Jax asks, seeing that Chibs is frozen in place. He tilts his head to the side and licks his lips.  
“My apologies for disturbing you. My vehicle doesn’t need any repair. I’m here to speak to Charles.”  
  
A tentative smile builds on Jax’s face as surprise sinks in. “You mean Chucky?”  
Chibs is still studying Tully with piercing scrutiny.  
“Yes, that would be a logical derivative to his name. So unless there’s another Charles working here…”  
  
“No no,” Jax interjects. “There’s only one Chucky, trust me. Follow me, he’s in the office.”  
Snapping his fingers in the air, one prospect lumbers out of the garage.  
“Prospect, get Chucky!”  
“Right away, boss.”  
  
Chucky stumbles into the daylight like he’s been living in a bunker, hand over his brow to shade his view. On spotting Tully, his eyes bulge, a scarlet heat warming him all over.  
  
“Charles,” Ron breathes, eyes rapt on his face when they draw closer. “Bonjour.”  
He reaches out to brush a lock of hair from his eyes, and Charles’ breath hitches.  
“Bonjour,” Charles replies, tapping a finger to his lips.  
  
Chibs stifles a gruff laugh, and Jax bites the corner of his mouth. Freaky is as freaky does, he guesses. But who the hell is he to judge?  
_“Charles_ , you have a visitor,” he emphasizes the appellation, squeezing Chucky’s forearm as he passes by.  
  
“Ron. Nice to meet you,” he salutes with two fingers. “Hope to have you back if you ever need to service your vehicle.”  
Accepting the invitation, Tully nods to proceed with a flourish of his hand. “It would be my pleasure. Thank you, Mr. Teller.”  
  
Jax snickers. “Mr. Teller was my father. You can call me Jax.”  
Tully’s hawkish attentions drag over them, landing on Filip. “Thank you, Jax. And nice to see you again, Filip.”  
Stopping short, Chibs lets a cocky smirk twist his face. “You too, Ron.”  
  
Elbowing him as they make their way into the garage, Jax whispers, “Who’s the Nazi? How does he know you?”  
“Ex-Nazi,” Filip explains. “And that’s a story that requires another beer, brother.”  
  
_  
  
Chucky regards the man with sparkling eyes, a weightless gaze. In daylight, he’s even more captivating.  
“Ronald, what brings you here? How did you know my place of employment?”  
  
A lidded look of satisfaction softens Ron’s face. “I asked around. There aren’t many men in Charming with your protheses.”  
“No, there aren’t,” Chucky confirms as he lifts them in the air. “I suppose I have them to thank for you locating me. Although I was going to return to your shop this week. I always keep my word.”  
“I don’t doubt that, Charles,” Tully replies in a soft voice.  
What a marvelous, peculiar singular creature he is, Ron concludes.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind,” Tully’s voice shakes as he pulls the package from under his arm. “I’ve brought you a gift.”  
  
At the sight of the package being offered from Tully’s grasp, Chucky gasps in sweet delight. “ _Pour moi_? I don’t know what to say!”  
“Please, just kindly accept it. Would you mind opening it now, I’d like to know what you think.”  
  
The possibilities leave him with a sense of breathlessness and euphoric joy. Ron holds it for him while Chucky undoes the exquisite wrapping. There’s a stir far down in the burning gaze of Tully’s eyes when Chucky’s attention nervously travels from the gift to his face.  
In his possession is a copy of “Blue of Noon,” an erotic novella by French writer Georges Bataille.  
  
“Le Bleu du Ciel…” Tully’s voice trails off, citing the book’s name in French. The words explore and suggest as much as his adoring expression. "A humble cadeau, to start your collection."   
  
Chucky can barely draw air, his vision is blurring.  
No one has ever given him a gift like this, so thoughtful and chivalrous. From the impeccable wrapping to the gesture of hand delivering it… what distant time dropped Ron Tully in Charming?!  
He’s so dazed he notices he hasn’t stopped staring at Ron’s lips. Chucky casts his eyes downward in slight embarrassment.  
  
“Merci beaucoup,” he breathes. “C’est merveilleux.” _Thank you,_ _It’s marvelous_.  
Not as much as you _,_ Ron admires. The implication of provocation is quickly veiled. “Je vous en prie.” _You’re welcome_.  
  
With his back to the garage, Chucky can’t see that the guys are doing a terrible job of pretending to work. Jax and Chibs are peering through the curtain in the office, the others sluice their focus back and forth.  
  
Tully feels the heat of scrutiny. As much as he’d love to stay and chat with Chucky, he'd much rather do it in private. Besides, he needs to go back and open the store as well.  
“Charles,” he reaches out, catching his free hand. Chucky almost flinches in surprise at the contact. Ron moves his thumb slowly across his palm and encircles his wrist.  
“There is one more thing.”  
  
Between the warmth of the brush and the intent of Tully’s phrase, a blush like a shadow runs up Chucky's cheeks.  
“Yes, Ronald?” Chucky blinks rapidly, aware of a sudden lump in his clenching throat.  
“It would be my pleasure if you would dine with me tomorrow night, at my home.”

A date?! Remarkable! Chucky grins awkwardly, crookedly, like he does when he's nervous. Lifting his head to give him his full attention, Chucky tilts his chin up and nods.  
“The pleasure will be all mine.”  
  
Tully raises Charles' hand to his lips and lightly presses them there. "Excellent. You know, Charles, A dinner invitation, once accepted, is a sacred obligation. If you die before the dinner takes place, your executor must attend."  
Daring to inch so near that he can whisper in his ear, Tully's words are as tender and light as a summer breeze. "But I pray most selfishly you make it until the morrow, safe and sound. We shall wine and dine. Nay I doubt, we will revel in delightful tales and adventures yet, you and I."  
  
This man is like a dream come true. Is _any_ of this real? he wonders. No thought stands straight in Chucky's mind. Everything is beautiful chaos.   
  
“You have witchcraft in your lips, sir,” Chucky stutters, voice barely above a whisper.   
“Oh, my sweet Charles,” Ron replies with a devious glimmer of amusement below his lashes. “You have no idea.”  
  
_  
  
Tig's squinting against the sun, wiping his greasy hands on a cloth. Chibs sidles up to him, naked amazement blanking his face.   
"Did ye see what just happened there?"  
Shaking his head, Tig pulls out a packet of cigarettes. "Not really. But Chucky really looks happy about something."   
"If I still read lips all right, Chucky just got asked out on a date."  
"By that weirdo?" Tig huffs.   
Indicating the general direction with his elbow, Chibs makes a startling revelation. "That weirdo used to be one of the biggest AB shot callers on the West Coast."  
  
Swaying in place, Tig shakes his head in denial. "Get the fuck outta here."   
"Nope. All true."   
"Does he know he just asked out a Jew?"  
Hooking his thumbs into his jeans, Chibs shrugs. "When I knew him, his beliefs were always a bit... commercial. More about maintaining the brand than anything else. Don't think he gives a shit whether Chucky is Jewish or a flyin' purple people eater."  
"That might actually turn him on."   
  
The door to the work bathroom clicks open, and Juice steps out as he shakes his hands dry. Chibs and Juice lock eyes again, Juice’s jaw tensing. Tig watches the exchange and shakes his head.   
"I'm gonna go call Py," he mumbles to Tig.  
  
When he's out of earshot, Tig grabs Chibs by the upper arm, making sure to look him straight in the eyes.  
"You need to fix this, brother. It's like watching two horny teenagers locked in a room together. _It ain't pretty_."   
  
Bloody hell, Chibs exhales through his nose. I need to take care of this today.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book in question was given to me as a gift from one of the biggest loves of my life, so it was emotional for me to include that bit, but that's how much I love this pairing. <3  
> There's a Shakespeare quotation from Henry V. And the bit about the dinner is a quotation by Ward McAllister. Ref to the song by Sheb Wooley - Purple People Eater (1958)  
> Tully’s car is Marilyn’s custom car he used in the Tainted Love video.  
> Next chapter we see Juice and Chibs finally hashing things out. Who knows what might happen. In the meantime, hope you enjoyed smore crack. 
> 
> This story is quickly becoming one of my favorites, guys, so I hope you're liking it as much as I am. And super thanks to OnlyOneWoman for coining the new crack ship as “Chully” which I absolutely adore lmfao. It’s already added to the tags! New update on Wonderland coming between tonight and tomorrow for those who follow that story as well.  
> Much love kids!


	6. Rings in the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jax orders Chibs and Juice to go to Portland. (A light nudge to get them talking since Juice has been avoiding Chibs).   
> They share a hotel room. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of resolution for all you Chibs/Juice shippers! xxoo This will either go very well- or very badly. Depends on point of view.

“I’ve seen what love looks like  
I’ve seen its beauty when it’s alive  
I was roaming in its paradise  
It’s gold, it’s blue, it’s in the skies”

_

  
This sure ain’t the Hilton, Juice thinks. He passes the pads of his fingers over a curling corner of aged wallpaper, tempted to peel it back.  
The motel room is small and unadorned. The most colorful things inside are pamphlets for nearby takeout restaurants and the yellowed thermostat. The artwork is so outdated he’s not even sure Chibs was even born when this place first opened. Honestly, though, what did they expect for 60 bucks? 

Juice pulls the top drawer of the small desk as he continues his exploration. Killing time until it’s his turn to shower.   
He considers invading Chibs’… eyes flitting to the door as soon as the thought crosses his mind. Christ, the conjured image sends a wave of heat through him.  
  
It hasn't been an easy few hours. The trip was unexpected and Juice is pretty sure Chibs planned the whole thing just so they could be alone- away from prying eyes and ears. Even though it was Jax who insisted it be them, Juice is certain the president was in on it.   
  
He knows what this is. They're supposed to work shit out and stop acting like children. Ope gave him the speech before he left.   
In fact, Chibs was waiting for an opening at the restaurant. He might have broached the subject himself- had Juice known what to say.   
  
Unfortunately right now his feelings, like his words, are a Boggle. Every time he shakes things up to try to understand what exactly it is he wants- a different thing pops up.   
It’s really rather simple. He needs to stop fooling himself. He either stays with Py, tries to make shit work- or he chooses Chibs.   
So why is it Juice finds it impossible to choose? Why does he want to have his cake and eat it, too?   
  
The oversized chair where Chibs threw his cut and clothes earlier beckons him. Lifting the black t-shirt to his nose, Juice inhales deeply. He looks about him, worried someone saw, his cheeks plum with guilt.   
Guilt over the fact that he’s smelling Chibs’ stuff. Guilt that he wants to. Guilt that even though nothing has happened yet, he already feels confused about the situation with Michael.   
  
Chibs’s sweetly intoxicating scent overwhelms him.  
“Oh god,” he whispers... he’d know this fragrance anywhere- even from miles away. It never failed to set his senses on fire and now is no different.   
He ignores the muscles tensing in his privates.  
  
Juice perks an ear, listening for the trickle coming from the bathroom. Chibs’ isn’t done yet. What’s taking him so damn long?   
  
Studying himself in the mirror hanging on the back of the door, one finger hooks into his tee and pulls. He smiles at the memory of his love bites, fingering the one on his clavicle where Michael had bit especially hard.   
Thinking about Py makes him smile, but then he angles a glance to the shirt in his hands.  
Shit.   
Why does Chibs have to be a dick sometimes? And why can’t Juice stop thinking about Chibs in that shower, naked… wet…. Just a slab of cheap wood dividing them.   
  
A steel ball drops in his gut and his cock twitches.   
  
_

  
The shower is hot, but not enough to blush his skin more than a faint pink. Chibs stands under the shitty jet, head hanging low between his muscular, outstretched arms. The water comes down with so little force it’s like someone’s pissing on him.   
One hand drops. Long, splayed fingers sear a path from his chest to his abdomen. Dipping lower, it grazes his swollen dick, frothy with soap.  
  
Chibs’s stomach twists with a hard knot of need. His hand hovers there. He’s imagining Juice on his knees, those round doe eyes looking up at him as he…   
  
Christ, if he could only forget Juice. Not compete daily with the desire and the ensuing simultaneous slap of reason. Suppressing his goddamn longing has proved impossible. 

This little trip to Oregon on behalf of the club was supposed to give them time to hash out whatever this bullshit is between them. Instead, they rode side by side, completely ignoring one another. When they stopped for lunch, Juice avoided his gaze and they ate in deafening silence.   
And now here they are, Juice in the other room, probably sitting on his bed reading the book he brought-and Chibs in here beating off in the fucking shower.  
Fuck.   
The urgency he’s feeling: Juice is his drug. Their imagined sex is so fresh Chibs thinks he can taste himself on Juice’s lips. Maybe if he...   
_  
I don’t think I can even breathe without him near._   
Fuck this shit. His considerations are a stuttering mess in his head.   
They belong to each other, Chibs thinks. So why shouldn’t they be together?  
  
This thing with Py- it’s eating him up. He’s so fucking envious that Py got to touch Juice- probably memorizing every inch of his perfect coffee-tinted skin.   
_I love him. I need him.  
_It’s a statement of fact. Chibs has never felt so sure of something and so insecure at the same time.   
  
A couple more strokes and with a hushed moan he watches a rosary of his jizz trickle down to the bottom of the tub- instantly washed away like he wishes his unholy intentions would.   
  
_  
  
Chibs sets foot into the room, and Juice smothers a groan. He’s naked and wet, just like Juice was imagining. His dick a semi-hard cast against his towel.   
So that's what he was doing in there. Juice swallows the lump lingering in his throat.   
  
Chibs has had enough. He decides now is the moment, especially since it's the first time since they left Charming that Juice hasn’t glared at him. Maybe something in the lad is softening for him. 

“God, you’re beautiful, Juicy,” Chibs says in fragmented voice.   
“What?” Juice whispers, heart thundering. Is… is this it? THE moment?  
  
Juice keeps him in a grip. Chibs searches his body up and back down, tantalized by every curve and angle. It’s like he’d only just appeared from the ether; a dream looking for something solid to rest upon.  
 _How can this man be real?_  
  
“I… I have feelings for ye, Juicy.” It's done. He wants to tell him he loves him. That he’s loved him for years, but he was so fucking afraid of losing him like he lost Niall…  
  
Holy shit. Juice shudders, a thrill shivering through his senses.   
“Chibs, I… “  
  
“Are you and Michael exclusive?” Filip interrupts, afraid to hear the answer.   
He white-knuckles the towel knot at his waist, beads of water trickling down his face. They leave small rivulets and Juice wants nothing else than to run his hands there, his thumbs testing Chibs’ scars before he presses his lips to them.   
“Because I don’t want to shit on that, lad. It wouldn’t be right. It was my fault I was such a coward, so if you’ve moved on I understand.”   
  
There are flames awakening in him- Juice aches with the promise of forbidden fulfilment. He’s been so angry with him- Filip can be so fucking stubborn sometimes, but now look at him standing there like a puppy caught out in the rain.  
“No,” he clears the gravel from his voice. “I mean, we’re not stupid. We’re two guys in charters 5 hours apart. We said... we just said we’ll try to make it work. See each other when we can, you know. Anyway, he knows… about you.”   
  
“What about me?” Filips asks. Awareness relaxes his features. He lets the question sink in because he wants to Juice to say it. After everything, he needs to hear it.   
  
There’s a depth to Juice’s smile that had been missing for way too long. “I’m in love with you, Chibs.”   
  
Filip absorbs the intensity of the words down to his core.   
“Christ, lad…” he almost calls him Niall by mistake. Those ridiculously shiny eyes full of adoration, blinking up at him just like Niall’s used to.   
It’s too much.

“I love ye, too, Juicy.”  
_  
  
If their love story had a soundtrack, this shit would cue the weepy music. But it doesn’t. This is real life.   
Chibs sprints forward, freed from any inhibition, straight into Juice’s waiting embrace.   
  
Juice’s senses spin from the fragrance of Chibs’s freshly washed body. Droplets of water fall from his bangs and Juice sucks them off his shoulder.  
Filip groans, pawing at his clothes.   
“I’m still dirty,” Juice laments.   
There’s a shimmer in the coal depths of Chibs’ eyes.   
“Don’t care, lad. Let’s get you dirtier.”  
_  
  
A nudge here, a hip there. One light shove and they’re on the bed. Chibs shudders, Juice’s warmth atop him a delicious blanket. His mouth wanders up the tingling cord of Chibs’s neck, tongue flat and wide.  
“Juice, fuck… “  
  
One hand brushes Juice’s slim waist. Chibs caresses the wide plane of his chest before landing on his sex.  
They share a wild, hungry kiss, devouring each other’s softness, cocks rubbing in matching need.  
  
Juice pulls off, stroking Chibs’s cheek with the knuckle of his forehand. He fixes a few strands of hair away from his face.  
“About Py- I… ”  
His half-lidded glance speaks volumes. “Not noo, lad. Not noo. We’ll figure shit out when we get home.”  
  
“Take me, Chibs.” Juice exhales, air hot against Chibs’s wine-colored lips.   
Juice’s body melts into him, and suddenly the world is filled with only them. Python, San Bernardino… Charming. They all seem so far away.   
  
Chibs welcomes him, molds himself into him. Juice’s quivering legs spread, and with a gasp Juice’s settles on Chibs’ manhood, his entrance stretching to accommodate him.   
Together they find a tempo, binding their bodies. Juice trembles into Filip’s warm, virile nearness, claiming him as his own.   
  
_

Sometimes when it rains, the drops patter against the glass so delicately it’s like they’re reciting poetry.   
But not today. What is happening outside is torrential, forming a humid and dreary halo over the lit parking lot.   
The blood red VACANCY sign flashes obnoxiously, a dull but even pulse dappling the floor from under the tattered curtain.   
In the darkness, two writhing bodies move as one. A cheek presses into the cushion, lips sliding to the side to get a breath.   
“Juicy… “  
  
Juice’s skin scents of gingerbread and weed. The taste is sweet against the tip of Chibs’ tongue.   
_Ginger, cinnamon_. Chibs draws in his essence as if he were drowning, needing it to survive.   
  
In a way that’s exactly the case- this is what buzzes in his mind as he travels the valley of Juice’s smooth back with clawed hands.   
It’s not just a perfume to invade his nostrils. He’s getting lost _in_ Juice. Every nerve in his body fires.   
  
“Chibs,” Juice whimpers, arching his perfectly round mounds to close the gap between his rear and Chibs’ groin. “Feels so good, baby.”  
“Can I go deeper, Juicy?” his lover breathes. Juice replies by burrowing his hand into his black hair, Juice’s nose nuzzling Chibs’s neck as he pulls his sex to the hilt.   
  
Tight, almost imperceptible gasps escape Chibs’ parted lips. Christ, burying himself like this, Juice opening himself to his urging… it’s all-consuming.  
“Ugh… aye… ”   
Chibs’ face contorts in pleasure, Juice nipping into his pillowy lower lip.   
  
Juice bears down, cinching around Chib’s arousal, a handful of sheet in his free hand while his erect flesh pulses in the other.   
“Chibs,” Juice shuts his eyes against the flashing lights, the fringe of his lashes fluttering. “Harder baby, _please_.”   
  
“Christ…” Filip murmurs into him. Hands on his chest, Chibs pins Juice into the dipping mattress as his knees weigh down against the springs.   
A warm glow surrounds them, Juice stretching his legs further apart.   
“Aye Juicy,” Chibs pants. “Like that…”  
  
Chibs kneads into the muscle, upper lip pinched between his teeth.   
“I’m very close, Juicy.”  
“Come for me, baby” Juice sibilates. The air absorbs a low moan as a couple thrusts later Chibs spills inside him.   
“Jesus Christ…”  
  
Dragging in a ragged breath- almost pained huffs, Juice eases himself into his release.  
He struggles not against Chibs, but _with_ him.  
  
Every remaining tug accompanies broken sighs.   
_  
  
Chibs is on his second shower.   
Juice’s head swings lazily to the side as he surveys the room once more. The aftermath of their sex remains undisturbed.  
Sheets rumpled and covers thrown to one side. They favor the left side of the bed.  
  
A nightstand is crookedly pushed up against the frame, Chibs having used it for balance. Juice remembers how much it banged against the wall. (Thank goodness they’re the only patrons on this end of the motel).  
Tiny half moon bruises dot the skin on his thighs. A nice souvenir of their first time together. 

Chibs rode him hard the second time, running from something caught between promise and panic.  
  
Juice is hesitant about moving or touching anything. It all seems fragile and frozen, like a living museum staging a moment of their lovemaking.  
Passion as told by furnishings.  
The scent of sex is still thick in the air. It’s mixed in with the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Juice desperately wants to open a window but can’t get the rusty latch to move.  
  
The pocket of his chinos vibrates from their place on the floor. He slips the phone from its sheath and he opens the text.   
He didn’t have to bother reading the name, he knows who it is.   
Michael.   
  
_Hey baby, call me when you get to Portland._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how was that kids? As good for you as it was for me? *Lights a cigarette*  
> Drop me some comments and let me know. Hugs and bugs!
> 
> Opening lines are from a hauntingly beautiful song called "Lover's Death" by Ursine Vulpine.


	7. Innocent Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Chibs and Juice still in Portland, Hap and Tig are picking up the slack at TM. Chucky is anxious about work and eager to finish up so he can get ready for his date with Tully.   
> Ron calls, sending the accountant into a small panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Chully anyone? Anyone?

Chucky’s posture softens, the spine curling slightly. It's warm in the office, a faint breeze just a teasing shimmer in the air, lightly ruffling the sheer curtains.   
There’s a stack of invoices to be filed, and another 4 yet to process. He’d rather be home getting ready, but none of this bookkeeping is going to do itself.   
He surveys the stacks and there’s no way he’ll get this done _and_ leave early for his date with Ron.   
Rubbing the crease between his eyes, he sighs heavily.   
  
Chuck’s been at it since 8 am and he’s forgotten to stop for lunch. With Chibs and Juice still in Portland, they’re down two mechanics. Jax and Ope have taken the tow truck for a pickup, so it’s only Tig and Happy in the garage.  
A perfunctory glance to the clock and he’s back at it. The first batch go into the hole puncher, the flat of his fake hand pushing in. From between pursed lips, he’s humming something to himself by Debussy.   
Maybe if Chucky can time things correctly, coming in early tomorrow will catch him up and he can still go to the shops this afternoon to get Ron a gift.   
  
Ron.  
Light and happiness inhabit his expression, especially of late, when he thinks about Tully. The mysterious dark man who happened into his life and somehow has altered its course forever. Only a few more hours until their date!   
  
From inside the garage, Happy looks up from the motorcycle, rubbing the grease from his hands with a towel hanging off his belt. He gently nudges Tig, who follows his gaze to the office window.   
Chucky’s eyes shut and he’s taking a deep, cleansing breath.   
“He’s been like that since he met that Nazi weirdo from the bookstore.”   
"What, you mean even weirder?"  
Tig crosses his arms, a broad smile stretching his face. “You see his hands? He ain’t jerking off in there, I hope,” he asks with a warm note of amusement.   
Hap’s eyes crinkle in laughter. “Nah, I think he’s doing paperwork.”   
  
A pleasant smell wafts over, tickling Hap’s nose. He shifts so his back’s to the office, and with no one else around he lets the memory of their night together color the room.  
“Hey Tiggy?”   
“Yeah baby?” his lover breathes.   
One look from Tig and the idea melts inside Hap like the morning mist under the sun.   
The words tumble from his lips, the need behind them an excited flutter in his chest. Adolescent, almost.   
  
“That thing we did the other night…?”  
Tig’s eyebrows rise in obvious pleasure. “Hap, that is a very vivid memory, yes. “ Desire colors his tone. “What about it?”  
“Wanna do it again tonight?” Hap suggests in a shy whisper.   
  
There’s a flicker in Tig’s gemstone eyes. “This sounds suspiciously like you’re asking me on a date, Hap.”   
It’s really sweet, and Tig secretly loves how bashful Hap is around him now.   
  
The toothpick twitches, and dark snappy eyes frame a flicker of intense tenderness. “Come on dude, don’t make it weird.” The blush tinges his cheeks. “Just come over later, we’ll have steak, play with the dogs. And then we can fuck.”   
His chin dipping slightly, Hap rubs into his forearm with his thumb. “Plan to stay the night. So what d’ya say?”  
  
There’s a sinewy strength to the way Tig pulls him shirt first, both behind the beam and out of view.   
“Well when you put it so romantically, baby… “  
  
Their mouths crush together, the desire shooting through them making Hap whimper.   
Tig brushes his hand across his chiseled cheek, scanning the depths of his eyes. He replies to the invitation in a husky voice, nuzzling his nose to Hap’s. “I’ll be over at 8.”  
Wrenching his sharp gaze away, Hap pretends nothing happened, though he’s clearly flustered and an uncomfortable erection poking from his uniform is not fooling anyone. “Cool, brother. See you then.”   
  
The shrill telephone ringing wakes Chucky from his focused accounting. Balancing the receiver in the crook of his shoulder, his other hand pillows his forehead.   
“TM Autoworks, Chucky speaking. How can I help you?”  
  
On the other end of the line, a sincere grin splits Tully’s face in two.   
“Bonjour, Charles.”  
It’s Ron. Chucky gasps, dropping his pencil. An immediate tendril of panic seizes him- is he calling to cancel? Postpone? What’s happening?  
“Ronald, what a surprise,” he replies shakily.   
  
A black lacquered finger hooks into two books that are out of order. Tully demands order and precision in all areas of his life, especially his affairs.   
He inverts the spines and dusts them off with a soft cloth.   
  
“I’m sorry to trouble you at your place of business. I just wanted to be sure I could confirm this evening’s rendezvous.”  
What a relief! Chuck’s shoulders immediately relax.   
“Bien Súr, of course. I shall be there with bells on. It is, still, at twenty hundred hours?”  
  
“Yes indeed,” Ron wags his head. “I’ll have the driver pick you up at a quarter to, if that is not too early.”   
Wait? What?   
“A driver?” Chucky repeats, confused. “I was thinking of taking my Vespa.”   
  
“Oh, nonsense, Charles," Tully protests. "Since I will be engaged in the meal’s preparation, I will see that I send a car to your home and that you are transported safely to mine. Then, at the time of your choosing, I will personally accompany you back.”  
What can he say to such a genteel offer?   
“Very well, Ronald. I accept that.”  
“Excellent.”  
  
Returning to his place behind the register, Tully retrieves a small pocket notebook and unscrews the cap on a fountain pen. “Charles?”  
“Yes?”   
Chuck forgets what he’s doing and accidentally etches the letter R into the invoice in front of him. “Oh shit!” he mumbles to himself.   
  
“Do you have any food allergies, digestive issues that I should be made aware of? The last thing I want to do is serve you something which you may not like or that might make you ill.”   
  
A moment of astonished silence ensues, Chuck’s sweeping lashes fluttering. “No, Ronald. But thank you for asking, it’s very kind of you to look out for my well-being.”  
“Of course, it’s my duty as a host.”  
Ron wipes a stray hair from his brow and continues. “Have you perused the book, Charles? I know it's rude to ask after a gift but I would very much like to discuss it with you this evening if you have.”  
  
Chucky anchors his hand on the desk, tipping his head back. Breathe, Chucky. Breathe.   
“Oh yes. It is most enchanting. And bizarre.”   
  
There's a deliberate punctuation to his words. “The beautiful is always bizarre, Charles.”  
“Indeed it is," Chucky gulps. "Not unlike everyday life.”   
  
Ron’s arm runs over his sleeve, testing the button on the cuff. Teeth playfully dragging at his lower lip, he smiles.   
“Life swarms with innocent monsters, my dearest Charles. You and I are among its best specimens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Chully! Yay!   
> The quotations at the end are from Charles Baudelaire. Date chapter is coming up!


	8. Three Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treat your boy badly, he'll stray.

Michael’s head is foggy from booze and _numbers_.  
Three days.  
72 hours.  
2 text messages from Juice totaling ten words.  
_Made it to Portland. Talk soon.  
_A day later: _All’s good. Talk soon._  
3 unanswered calls and then Michael stopped trying.  
  
Juice has never been so fucking distant. Cold. Sure, it’s not like they’ve known each other for years, but there’s been a massive freeze since Juice left on this trip.  
Packer told him he and Chibs got sent on this ride for "SAMCRO business" in Oregon.  
Michael’s not stupid. If Chibs had anything to do with this, it was specifically orchestrated to get them talking.  
And maybe more.  
Who the hell is he kidding? Of course there’s more! They’re obviously fucking by now. Why else would Juice be avoiding him?  
  
Michael can’t blame the guy. He never hid this from him- the fact that he had feelings for the VP. To be honest, he was immediately forthcoming.  
And even though they agreed they’d “try” to make things work, neither promised exclusivity. It’s just that Py isn’t really interested in dating anyone else. That’s the thing. The small catch.  
He fucking fell for Juice Ortiz in the same amount of time it took Juice to start ignoring him:  
Three days.  
  
So here’s Michael, slightly drunk, locked in one of the DINO clubhouse bedrooms with a Mayan. Just because he reminds him of Juice. Just because he’s that much over the line of spite sex and loneliness.  
Jesus Christ, could he be any more pathetic?  
“ _Carnal_. Dude you’re so fucking hot.” Flaco licks his pouty lips, wrapping his curled hand around the back of Py’s neck. Soft strands of his hair graze his slim wrist.  
Flaco’s the Mayan version of Py and Juice. A techie nerd with a head for figures. (And a thing for Michael since he met him a few months back).  
Fuck… more numbers for Py to ponder. Why can’t Michael’s brain stop fizzling?  
  
Flaco Jimenez is 29, he’s got a nine in his cut and… Michael’s almond eyes had flitted over it earlier… what looks like a nine in his underwear, too. He’ll find out soon enough.  
Shit.  
Flaco bats his sooty lashes, the ones that shadow those large, dark eyes. In this light they shine like bits of gleaming porcelain. Just like Ju- …  
“Papì, you wit me?”

Papì… Juice started calling him that the day he left Charming. Fuck if that’s not a turn on.  
Michael nuzzles into his caramel skin. The tip of his tongue traces a moist circle right below his ear.  
“Yeah, Flaco. I’m here.”  
No tribal tats on his head or adorable dimples. Doesn’t use the same cologne.  
Okay, the kid can’t have it all. For one night he’ll do, though.  
  
“Thanks for spending some time with me, sweetheart,” Py breathes.  
“Sure thing. Didn’t have nothin’ going on tonight.” Flaco leans in, a gesture obviously wanting of a kiss. Michael flinches, raises his hand in time.  
“No kissing, sorry.”  
  
Shoulders slumping, Flaco exhales deeply. A raised finger touches the pulp of Michael’s lower lip and the other almost sucks on it from reflex. He tries to keep himself in check.   
“Yeah, papì, sure thing. I get it. It’s a damn shame, though. This mouth… damn. But sorry I insisted.”  
  
Not only is Michael miserable, he’s now being a miserable piece of shit. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I’m just caught up on someone, you know? It’s not personal.”  
Flaco figured.  
“ _Claro_ , baby. I get it, this is a one-time thing. We do what you want, papì. We’re cool, don’t worry.”  
He knows he’s a proxy for this other guy, and honestly he doesn’t care. It’s not like he’s marrying Michael. They’re just having some fun, passing a few hours together. Who the fuck cares if this guy wants him to be someone else.  
  
Py feels bad. He’s gotta give him _something_. Flaco knows he’s being used for sex and is sticking around anyway.   
“Come here,” Py breathes. He dims the lights, just enough so Flaco kind of looks like Juice if he squints.  
Pulling down his lover’s already gaping pants and his underwear in one tug, he drags his nails up his ribs when the Mayan drapes himself over him.  
  
Py’s gaze drops to Flaco’s cock, bouncing against his stomach.  
Fuck… fucking perfection. Uncut, the foreskin sheathing a perfectly round head, cylindrical shaft. None of that weird mushroom cap dick that kinda turns Michael off (and also gets stuck in your ass as the dude’s pulling out).  
Even though Michael hasn’t decided yet if he wants to be fucked or do the fucking, either way this is a fucking amazing start to the evening. Hopefully Flaco switches.  
Yeah. And for the kids at the back, it’s definitely a nine.  
  
“Damn, Flaco…”  
“Not bad for a wetback, huh?” he jokes.  
Michael stiffens in place. Nope. “I’d never use that word. I’m not racist. My boyfriend is Puerto Rican.”  
  
It slipped out. _Boyfriend_. Goddammit.  
Raising his eyebrows, Flaco draws back, palms out in the air. “Listen, ‘mano, there ain’t gonna be some jealous boricua busting through the door in a minute, is there? Cuz those motherfuckers are crazy. I don’t want any part of that.”  
Mother of God, did Py put his foot in it! “No. No. We’re not really… look, it’s complicated. We’re not exclusive. I’m not a cheater, I don’t play like that. He’s in Portland right now with his VP and they’re probably…”  
He takes a breath, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “FUCK! It’s a fucking clusterfuck.”  
  
Drama is something that Flaco is very familiar with. Two baby mamas and an “on again, more off again” Korean boy toy…  
Okay. So if he’s dealing with shit, that explains the tension in Py’s face. The wet sadness to his stare.  
“You wanna talk about it, papì? Give me the abridged version?”  
He’s not a total insensitive prick. Sure, he’s got a raging hard-on, but he doesn’t want to seem like one of those assholes only out for sex. The guy’s obviously hurting.  
  
Michael wags his head. No, he most definitely does not want to talk about it. Not at all. What’s there to say, anyway?  
“No. I’ve thought about it too much already. I just want to be with you tonight, if that’s still okay with you.”  
Nodding, Flaco reaches out, grabbing his chin with two fingers.  
“Yeah, it is. More than okay, papito.” He gets within an inch of his inviting lips. “You absolutely married to the no kissing thing?”  
They swallow the sigh separating them. “You know, I think I can be convinced to rethink that policy.”  
“Excellent,” Flaco licks over the seam of his mouth. “Excellent, papì.”  
_  
  
“You mind if we fuck in the shower?” Michael whispers into the flesh of his neck after they’ve been making out for 10 minutes.  
“No, man. It’s cool. Vamos.”

Moments later they’ve shed what was left of their shit. It’s like a war zone- cuts and shirts thrown to the floor. Flaco’s jeans on the edge of the bed, Py’s pants crumpled on the threshold to the bathroom. Boots and socks dumped in the corner of the room.  
  
It’s a big enough shower- just tight enough for it to be hot. The warm stream is pleasant down their backs and chests.   
Michael licks Flaco’s tongue, drops of tasteless shower water falling between them, only slicking everything further.   
“This is so hot. I haven’t fucked in a shower in ages,” Flaco breathes, bracketing his face. “But you better grab the lube, papì, because that shit ain’t gonna be an easy fit. Damn.”  
  
Okay, so he’s a bottom. Either that or he wants to get fucked.  
The “damn” is most certainly complimentary, but Michael still blushes. “Well, you’re giving me a good run for my money, baby.”  
Py realizes in that moment he’s only got water-based lube, and that ain’t going to do shit in the shower. He didn’t think this through.  
Then he spots the vaseline. Not ideal with the condom, but it shouldn’t degrade it too much if he just puts it on Flaco’s opening.  
“How about this? I’ll make it quick.” He holds up the jar.  
“Fuck quick, ‘mano. I kinda want you to come on my face anyway, so…”  
  
“Jesus Christ!” Py exclaims.  
“What can I say,” Flaco shrugs, a mischievous smile stretching the corners of his mouth. “I like cum…”  
“Yeah,” Michael chuckles, “not helping man. Not helping.”  
  
Flaco grabs his face and coaxes another kiss out of him. “Just put that shit on and let’s go…”  
Michael doesn’t waste time. He flips the kid around, who spreads his long legs and braces his arms, using the tiled wall for balance.   
_You are so hot,_ Michael thinks _. Jesus, look at that ass. Almost as good as…_

Flaco looks back, chin poised right above his shoulder. “I’m ready when you are, papì.”  
It’s more a whine than a statement, he’s aching for it… and Christ, Michael’s seeping now.  
“I think it might be quick, Flaco, you keep looking at me like that.”

After putting on the condom (Jesus, how hard is he now!) he lathers a ton of the stuff on his sheathed shaft.  
He kisses up Flaco’s back, feather-light, and nips lightly into his shoulder. Py teases him, circles his hole with two fingers.  
“Fuck, ‘mano… “ Flaco moans. “I want you.”  
He’s stroking himself, the hot water like needle pricks on his cock head. It’s on the right side of pain/pleasure.  
When he’s four fingers in and easily gaping him, Michael tests it with his tip.  
“I’m going in, baby.”  
“Oh yeah, papì.” Flaco’s bucking back in want, feeling the flush spread through him. The water raining down on them only accentuates the scorch. “Like that. Jesus, now we’re talking.” 

Michael latches onto Flaco’s lower lip with his teeth, sinking himself inside until he bottoms out.

It goes in almost too easily, but it’s not the girth that gets Flaco riled up.  
“Oh fuck. FUCK PAPI!”  
Flaco bounces into him, once, twice… until he finds a rhythm. He’s fucking himself on Michael’s cock and shit if this isn’t the hottest thing.  
“Keep calling me papì,” Py begs, knees already weak from want. “Let me hear you scream it, baby.”  
  
He tries not to feel guilty. Justifies this romp with an image of Chibs and Juice fucking in a motel room somewhere in Portland.  
Little does he know he’s not far off at all. But Juice isn't as okay with what he's doing as Michael might think. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter "should" up today and it's going to be the Chully date chapter. :)
> 
> Flaco is loosely based on Coco from Mayans MC.


	9. Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three words: Chully date night. Get ready for true romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back to different times. Back when men wooed and they asked politely for permission before groping you. (Em, that one's for you. Ha!).  
> Dedicated to my 3 biggest Chully cheerleaders (you know who you are), but also to all those of you who have embraced this crazy-ass ship (and the story). I never thought I'd still be writing it, but I'm more involved than ever.  
> *Trigger warning for tooth-rotting fluff and romance!*

The door swings open to an impeccably dressed Tully. The vision knocks the already shaky breath out of Chucky.  
A dark maroon suit hugs Ron’s body perfectly. He’s not wearing a tie this time, but a beautiful silver skull clasp rests at the hollow of his creamy throat, clipped to the top button.  
  
What definitely doesn’t go unnoticed is the depth of Ron’s eyes, accentuated by the smear of black eyeliner. Charles swallow hard when his gaze sinks lower- the color stain on Tully’s lips, identical to the suit.  
 _He’s mesmerizing!_   
  
“Charles…” The name is a smile pulled on his crimson mouth. He reaches out and kisses the top of Chucky’s fake hand, leaving a lipstick mark.  
 _Mon Dieu_ …  
Chucky gasps, thinking he may never wash this hand again. “Ronald. Thank you for having me this evening.”  
  
They measure each other, eye to dazzled eye. The heat mounts in Chucky’s cheeks as he steps inside, the full attention of Ron’s raking gaze on his back. A sudden lightness expands in Tully’s core, making him sway in place.  
Charles chose a light checkered suit for the occasion- so suited to his style and personality it makes Ron’s mouth fall open.  
“Welcome to my home, Charles. I trust the ride over was pleasant?”  
  
It was indeed. Ron sent over a black sedan, driven by a very intriguing acquaintance of Tully’s. Nothing short of rock star treatment when Darius even opened the door for him!  
  
“Oh yes, Darius is a very well-read man. We were discussing Homeric scholarship on the way over. Was almost a pity the ride was so short.”  
Contrary to what he was expecting, from where he’s standing Chucky is visibly taken aback: the entire interior of the house is white. The furnishings are modern and sleek, just enough to be functional. Nothing out of place or a piece that would be accused of being superfluous.  
He doesn’t know why he was half-expecting everything to be red velvet. Chucky never thought such a man existed, let alone finding someone like Ron Tully right here in Charming!  
The shop, this house! This man!  
  
“I chose well,” Ron says with a note of self-satisfaction. He tasked one of his closest friends and most prolific patrons to be Chucky’s chauffeur, one Darius Way.  
“More importantly,” Charles continues, “we agreed that the looser definition of Neoanlysis would include the reconstruction of earlier forms of the epics based only on residue in the surviving versions of the Iliad and Odyssey, quite apart from any relationship to the material of the Epic Cycle.”  
  
Ron can’t contain his grin. Where has this magnificent man been hiding? It’s not exactly easy for someone like Ron Tully to find love. Honestly, to get most anyone to overlook his physical appearance, and above all, the scars and markings which claimed his flesh as part of his survival in prison- it’s safe to say they scare most people away before he’s even opened his mouth.  
Who knew his love was hiding out at Teller-Morrow Autoworks.  
“That _is_ fascinating. Oh, and may I take that for you?”  
  
What Chucky hands over is Ron’s gift. A gorgeous box wrapped in gold paper with a note attached. Over the crease of the envelope is a seal, the letters CM embossed on crimson wax.   
“This is an homage for you, Ronald.” Smoothing the front of his shirt, Chucky shifts from left foot to right.  
“May I open it?”  
“I would be very pleased if you would.”  
  
When Tully cracks the seal, the scent of myrrh wafts to his nose. The parchment paper must have been scented with it, perhaps by Charles’ own hand? It crinkles between his fingertips as he unfolds to reveal the contents.  
Written in perfect Gothic lettering is the following message:  
  
 _“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion--  
I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more.  
I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that.  
I could die for you.  
My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.”  
  
_Perhaps it’s too much. Perhaps Chucky shouldn’t have dared a message so bold?  
A deep, gratifying sigh deflates Ron’s chest. “Charles…” dark eyes wet with devotion clips him to his place. “Keats. You’ve- you’ve left me speechless.”  
  
There’s a flood of dusky color to Tully’s pale face. Delicate fingers undo the wrapping paper next, with a care given to the most rare of objects.  
Heart pounding against his ribs, Ron steers the conversation back to something “safe.” Because otherwise he’ll act upon every molecule in his body, which is vibrating with excitement and begging him to kiss Chucky.   
  
“Have you read Steve Reece’s proposition on the anomalies of structure and detail in the surviving version of the Odyssey?”  
The shorter man before him comes alive, stifling the temporary moment of panic.  
“That they point to earlier versions of the tale in which Telemachus went in search of news of his father not to Menelaus in Sparta but to Idomeneus in Crete?”   
  
Most of the box is visible now. Ron clears his throat. “Precisely. Isn’t it interesting that Telemachus met up with his father in Crete and conspired with him to return to Ithaca disguised as the soothsayer Theoclymenus?”  
“Brilliant observation on his part. I was captivated.”   
  
What are they even doing? Chucky wonders. Why aren't we kissing?!   
  
Regarding him with almost a justified possessiveness, as if he was challenging someone to try to take Chuck Martstein away from him… Ron shakes his head.   
“My word, Charles. Where did you find this? It’s extremely rare!” Ron pulls a bottle from the wooden casing. It’s a Glenmorangie Highland Single Malt Scotch Whisky, 18 years old.  
  
Clasping his hands to his breast, he bounces on his toes. “I have a friend who works in spirits. He came upon one and I snatched it up. I hope I guessed right, you do enjoy a nice glass of whisky?”  
“Even if I didn’t, _but I do_ ,” Tully leans in dangerously close, “something so precious would merit a taste. I can’t thank you enough, Charles. For this and for the beautiful note.”  
And its sentiment, he wants to add. And its sentiment.  
  
Before he can stop himself, Ron closes the gap and leans in, kissing Chucky lightly on the cheek. The man’s hand instinctively travels there a second later, the lipstick-marked spot igniting from the touch.  
Charles wonders if the room is spinning.  
  
“Wow, Ronald, you have a beautiful home,” he desperately changes the subject.  
“Thank you,” Ron says as he leads him to the kitchen with an outstretched hand, the ghost of the peck still warm on his lips. “It’s my little haven from the outside world- much like my shop.”  
_

Soft music plays in the background. Chucky recognizes it immediately. It’s big band- Benny Goodman.  
“I hope the music is to your liking,” Ron says when he notices his guest’s ears are perked. “I wagered a guess since you played clarinet.”  
  
Narrowing his eyes, Chucky wavers. “How… how did you know I played clarinet?” What is he, a mind reader?!  
Deliberately lowering his head, Ron reaches out with two fingers.  
“May I?” he asks, an inch shy of his guest’s slick mouth.  
  
Unsure of what’s about to happen, Chuck allows the touch anyway with a nod.  
“People who have played clarinet a long time have an indentation in their lower lip, not only flattening it but making it plumper around the reed point.”  
This is the second time tonight that Tully’s sought a pretext to touch him. It takes all of his willpower to keep from grasping Ron’s hand and pulling him near.  
Chuck is tempted to dip his tongue onto the pad. Heaven help him!  
  
“It’s just like your lip, you see.”  
A cozy warmth envelopes the clarinetist- he wants to swallow but can’t remember how!  
Tully wears his dreamy-eyed expression so well. Too well. He breaks from the trance and tenderly releases.  
“I’m impressed, Ronald,” he manages, voice strained. “Very astute of you. And it’s a perfect choice. I adore big band music precisely because of my jazz upbringing.”  
  
Tully’s pulse is skittering. “I’ve got a 3-hour playlist going, so I’m sure we won’t get bored. I set the table outside, if you don’t mind. It’s a lovely evening.”  
“No, that would be delightful.”  
  
Tully pulls a seat out for Charles at the breakfast bar, which overlooks the spotless kitchen. There are three pots slowly simmering.  
“Would you care for some wine while I finish up?”  
  
When Chucky takes a seat and doesn’t protest, Ron reaches for the bottle and fills the glasses two fingers deep. He tips one towards his guest.  
“I made ossobuco and milanese rice. I know I asked about your food preferences but I wasn’t sure if you were just of Jewish descent or also a practicing Jew. I wanted to spare you having to feel uncomfortable if you don’t, in fact, eat pork.”  
“I’m not practicing. But I thank you for the courtesy.” Of course Tully would have thought of everything, including that. Charles raises the glass to his mouth and proposes a toast.  
  
“Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.”  
“I will be more than happy to oblige,” Ron whispers, not without a thick knot clenching his stomach.   
  
When they’ve swallowed their polite sips, Tully turns his attention to the cooking. Tying a black apron behind his back, he pulls out two plates and walks over to the stove.  
“I’ll plate, Charles, and then we can dine.”  
_  
  
What an evening! The dinner was superlative, the conversation even more so.  
Sipping thoughtfully from his tumbler, Charles is grateful for the warmth it sends coursing through his veins. (Not that he needs to feel any hotter!)  
  
“This whisky is heavenly,” Tully muses, drinking in not only the spirit but also the nearness of Chucky’s being. "Thank you again."   
“It’s like an angel crying on your tongue,” he replies, and both men burst into laughter. What is this jolt of magnetism sliding over his skin?!  
  
Ron’s stare sends prickles up Chucky’s spine. His “come-and-get-me” eyes aren’t fooling anyone. Landing the final blow, as if he had somehow timed the entire evening down to the minute, “When I Fall in Love” by Nat King Cole comes on over the speaker.  
“I love this song,” Chucky breathes, not realizing that he said it out loud.  
  
Ron doesn’t waste a moment. This is just what he’s been waiting for. He extends an inked hand and offers the patio before them with a tilt to his head.  
“Would you grace me a dance, Charles?”  
“Really?” his concentration scatters. _A dance?!_ Charles hasn’t danced with anyone since middle school. He never even went to his proms!  
“Of course. It would be an honor.”  
  
The verse of the song sets more than just the mood. Ron’s garden is dim, only the fairy lights he turned on earlier illuminating the space.  
They and the stars in their eyes are the only things sparkling.  
  
 _“When I fall in love… It will be forever…. Or I’ll never fall in love”_  
Chuck can’t help but hum along. The atmosphere is as enchanting as his date! And Ron is no less smitten. He never tears his gaze from Chucky’s grinning face.  
 _  
“In a restless world … Like this is ….Love is ended before it’s begun”  
  
_ Tully wraps his arm around his waist, soft but not restrained. This is the closest they’ve ever been and both have breaths caught in their aching chests.  
Tully clearly states his intentions by slowly pushing himself towards Chucky, silently inviting him to follow along.  
He moves like he’s on a cloud.  
  
“You dance so well,” Chuck murmurs.  
Heavens, his date is swooning!! What God fashioned someone like this, and for him- for Chuck Marstein! Chucky would pinch himself but it would mean unlocking himself from Ron’s grasp and that is the last thing he wants!  
  
Knees wobbly and eyelashes fluttering, he lets himself go, absorbed completely in Tully’s aura. Ron inhales Chucky’s essence- his scent of clean, crisp aftershave tickling his nostrils.  
“You only dance as well as your partner they say.”  
  
 _“Is when I’ll fall in love (I fall in love)…. with you”  
_  
Their palms are locked and Tully’s eyes scan the floor in front of him, but are constantly aware of the movements. He squeezes Charles’ hand in reassurance.  
It’s as if they’re living a movie scene – he’s Fred Astaire and he’s gliding across the floor with his beau! The twinkling lights, the soft, romantic music, even their languid movements follow each other harmoniously.  
If someone were to look on, they would think these men had been in love for years. That the music and their physical touch were their only way of survival.

_“When I give my heart… It will be completely  
Or I’ll never give my heart…”_

What immortal hand or eye dare frame thy divine symmetry? Chucky thinks.  
“Ronald, I… ”   
Charles is overwhelmed. His words jumble in his head like tin foil. For the first time in perhaps forever, the feeling of exhilaration is alive in him- for what it means for someone to be interested in HIM. To want HIM. It takes over his brain and makes it fog. He's on the verge of tears.   
  
Chucky’s so used to being invisible. The guys at the clubhouse are all attractive and sexy and he’s just… a joke to the majority. Invisible to the women passing through, to the men even more so. He wouldn’t make himself a laughingstock by having pity sex with one of the crow-eaters, even though sometimes he sees Jax whisper something to one of the girls and they saunter over…  
That’s not who he is. Chucky isn’t about cheap, meaningless sex. Especially from someone being ordered to hit on him.  
  
But this… Ronald… HE was the one who showed interest first! He sought him out, brought him a gift which was not only thoughtful but also deliciously symbolic and naughty.  
Chucky thinks he’s one step from irrevocably falling for this mysterious man.  
  
“May I pay you a compliment, Charles?” A hand presses into the small of Charles’ back. He’s melting into the pull of his partner’s body.  
“A little compliment wouldn’t irretrievably inflate my ego,” he replies timidly.

Ronald treats Charles with a tenderness and respect that is not less than how their relationship began.  
“I think you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, Charles Marstein.”  
  
Chucky gulps! His belly quivers. “I harbor the same sentiment for you,” he stutters.

Tully moves his left foot backward in a slow, smooth motion, sliding across the cement. Chuck then rhythmically slides his right foot forward, trying to catch up with the retreating movement.  
Leaning steadily in his direction and looking straight in his eyes, Ron’s fingers line up with his ribs.

The song ends, still softly brushing their ears. The singer’s voice at the beginning of the next tune gives Tully confidence.  
 _“Unforgettable… That’s what you are  
Unforgettable… Though near or far”_   
  
Ron fights the hungry desire rippling through him.   
Charles is ready to surrender. All he needs to do is say the words.  
“Would it be too forward if I kissed you, Charles?” Ron says in what’s barely a broken whisper.  
Shivers of delight run through his guest at the words… _and the proposition._  
“No. Not forward at all.”

A breath doused in need leaves his mouth. Tully’s painted lips descend to meet Chucky’s, the first touch air-light, filled with tantalizing persuasion. It’s gentle and questing at first, Charles wanting to cup Ron’s face but afraid he’ll be disgusted with his hands.  
When Chucky tenses, Ron understands. He removes himself from the back of Charles’ neck and guides his hands to bracket his own face.  
  
Wide-eyed, Chucky stammers “You’re… you’re not grossed out?”  
“I welcome your touch,” Tully answers. "Nothing about you could ever gross me out."   
  
The smile that ensues crinkles Chucky’s eyes, who parts his lips, allowing now for a deeper, achingly sweet exploration of their mouths. Every part of him is sighing love for the man.  
  
Lifting his lips until they hover just above his, Chucky gently touches the line of his jaw. There's a small plum smear on Ron's chin from their passionate kiss. Drunk on the moment (and maybe a little from the booze) he stands on tiptoe and traces the spot with the tip of his tongue.   
Tully sucks air between his teeth, one thumb rubbing below Chucky's left eye. He shudders in place.   
  
“There was a star danced, and under that were you born, Charles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! And that I did it justice.  
> Let me know what you think about it! Engage engage don't be afraid. I don't bite. :) 
> 
> All the citations I can remember, if anything I missed sounds like Shakespeare it's probably that ahaha!:
> 
> What immortal hand or eye dare frame thy fearful symettry - William Blake - The Tiger
> 
> Songs by Nat King Cole: "If I Fall in Love," and "Unforgettable"  
> Title from the song by Post Malone
> 
> “I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion--  
> I have shuddered at it, I shudder no more.  
> I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that.  
> I could die for you.  
> My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet.” - Keats
> 
> “There was a star danced, and under that was I born.” Shakespeare, 'Much Ado About Nothing' (1598-9) act 2, sc. 1, l. [348]
> 
> It's like an angel crying on your tongue. ~The Mentalist, "My Bloody Valentine," written by Bruno Heller and Tom Szentgyorgyi, spoken by the character Patrick Jane, about alcohol
> 
> All the stuff on Homeric studies I got from wiki.


	10. Niall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Niall, Chibs' first love. The one that Juice reminds him of so much it scares the fuck out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cried while writing this. Trigger warning for a violent death by stabbing.

The kiss was fire in his veins, spreading through him, lighting the darkest parts of his soul. He moved his mouth from Niall’s greedy lips, down his chiseled jawline to the soft part of his neck.  
Cruel ravishment.  
He bit into the spot. Aye, _that_ spot, Filip’s and his alone. Niall bucked against him like the thoroughbred he was.  
“Christ, Fil..”   
The mark he left below Niall’s ear was deliberately uneven, could have been mistaken for some love bite gifted from a lass while lobbing the gob out at the pub. In any case, the Celtic cross etched into Niall’s sensitive flesh (Padraig’s sophomoric attempt at ink left it in just a few months earlier) hid most of it.  
  
Niall moaned, the sweetest sound Filip ever heard in his life, and slipped his hands around Filip’s waist.  
“I want ye,” he begged through gritted teeth.  
Not even a ship’s sheet could tether them tighter. He worked his way under Filip’s loose shirt with curled fingers, tugging it up and over his head.  
  
They broke apart for the briefest moment, only enough to dispose of the ragged piece of cotton, and crashed back together once more.  
There was a violence and an urgency to their lovemaking today, almost as if more than the steel grey Belfast clouds hung over them.   
Perhaps the chill in their bones was something more akin to an omen. Christ, not even the wild Irish sea in winter would have smashed into a crag this desperately.  
  
Canines and mouths roving across each other’s bodies, their ragged breaths squeaked in hard gasps.

Filip pulled Niall away from the wall he’d pinned him to, and slowly, without cleaving from the embrace, manoeuvred him to the tiny unmade bed behind them.  
“Niall… “  
The blood was a soft shushing sound in Niall’s ears as it pumped straight from his head to his cock. They collapsed backwards onto the wrinkled bedding.  
“We dinnae hae much time, lad…”  
  
Filip reached for the worn crew neck of Niall’s shirt and jerked it off over his head, continuing to smother kisses down his chest and stomach.  
Niall had wound his long digits into Filip’s hair and was pulling gently at his nape.  
He’d reached the top of his low-slung jeans, grazing his lips against the dip where Niall’s hips formed a v at his slim waist.  
The tugging at his hair had become more insistent now, so Fillip bent his head to meet his lover’s deep chocolate gaze.  
Niall stared back at him with such naked longing… Filip slid back up his body to press a tantalizing kiss against his petal lips.

“I need ye noo…” It was a beseech that made the air tremble.   
Niall fumbled with Filip’s jeans, finally undoing them and pushing them off with sharp yanks.  
  
He released Filip’s dick from his boxers and threw himself on it, swallowing into his eager mouth, sliding his tongue over the swollen tip as he massaged the shaft with his hand.  
“Christ, Niall…”  
Filip fisted into Niall’s dark curls and whimpered, his head thrown back, face slack and dropped to the side, just savouring the heat.  
For several minutes, Niall’s mouth worked his length, silencing his ever-tumbling mind. It was only when he felt the first tightening in his balls did he pull harder on Niall’s crisp tendrils, bringing his face back up.  
He kissed him, hard and deep, his almond eyes brimming with tenderness and passion.

After a minute, Filip rolled over, so that Niall was trapped under him, undoing his jeans in turn and working them down with hastened shimmies.  
Once they were both stripped down, Filip flipped Niall over and brought him to his knees. Niall lay with a pillow beneath, so his ass was high in the air. Knees bracing making the mattress sag with their combined weight, Niall reached back to play with Fillip’s glistening cock as he positioned himself.  
Their need might have been hurried, but Filip was gentle. This was the first time either had been with men, and it’d only been a few weeks they’d been intimate.   
Niall wasn’t exactly a veteran yet.  
“Niall, ken I?” Filip nudged the bleeding tip on the opening after having lathered some Vaseline there.  
“Aye, for feck’s sake…”  
  
Filip was gentle, inching slowly inside the muscle as Niall breathed to the stretch. It didn’t take long, though, for both men to be moaning in ecstasy once Filip started moving.  
Niall’s hands balled into the sheets, muffling his laments into what doubled as a second pillow.   
  
Fillip fucked him slowly, calculated. He pulled back whenever Niall’s sounds of pleasure edged towards pain.  
Fil didn’t last long, thanks to Niall’s tender mouth having worked him before.  
“Niall, I’m coming,” Filip had forced the words to drag out through clenched teeth.  
His lover spilled into his hand a moment later, something in Gaelic left on the pillow along with his warm brine.  
  
The pair lay entwined in the blanket, panting and throbbing until the rib-expanding effort didn’t quiet their breath.  
Fillip pulled Niall’s head onto his chest, stroking a stray curl from his forehead and kissing the top of his nose.  
His chest deflated contentedly.  
  
“Ye all right, lad?” Filip enquired.  
Niall couldn’t have been better. He didn’t have shite for family and not a quid to his name but he had fucking Filip Telford and so what else did he need?!  
He ran his hands over Filip’s taut stomach almost in a gesture of worship, fingering every scar that had been signed onto his skin.   
After a few minutes, when their heartbeats had faded to a low pulse, Fillip pulled a packet of cigarettes from the top drawer and extracted one with his lips, sliding another out before passing the box to Niall.  
Reluctantly, his lover moved from his position to sit up.  
They lit their smokes with a zippo clang each, and Niall thought better of squaring his shoulders. Instead, he curled up against his man so he was pressed against Filip’s side.

“That was nice, Fil,” he breathed, a wry smile playing across his full lips.  
Fillip moaned an aye, part love and part just fucking agony of living.  
He wanted to freeze this moment forever. That’s what the tear playing at the corner of his eye would have said had anyone seen.   
Could he? Could they?  
  
He memorized every detail of his lover’s face, thinking he couldn’t love another lad again like he loved Niall. He was beautiful and didn’t belong in the life they lived.  
Fuck.  
The walls he’d built to keep reality out cracked then, and he had to fight to stop the smile slipping from his mouth.  
He knew Niall hated it when he worried, but there was so fucking much to keep him up at night, and he could never quite stop his tumultuous thoughts for long.  
His brain was like a washer full of stones.  
Loud.  
Chaotic.  
Painful.  
  
Despite his best efforts, Niall saw the flicker in those watery eyes. He laid his free palm and splayed it on Fillip’s cheek, kissing him slowly until he could swallow away the sob that rose in Fil’s throat.   
Almost for him, in place of him.  
 _Give me your pain, Fil. Give it all to me because I don’t have anything to live for if I don’t feckin’ have YOU.  
_   
When he pulled back, the fear in Fil’s eyes had all but melted. Niall was the only thing that helped.  
He was Telford’s savior.

“I love ye,” Fillip breathed, his voice catching a little on the grit in his gullet.  
Niall’s mouth creased into one of the widest smiles he’d ever expressed. Open and real.

“I love you too, you sappy Scot.” He laughed only to break the tension. So his fucking heart didn’t burst in his chest from loving this man so fucking much it made even sucking in air superfluous.  
  
They lay there for a few more minutes, a content silence between them. The smoke just billowing in front of their faces made for a happy filter.  
Filip eventually sighed and pushed himself up on the heels of his hands.

“I’ve got tae go. There’s a meetin’ I gotta attend tae,’ he said, fumbling for his clothes. Niall frowned, shoulders slumping. He lay down on his side like some feckin’ 50s pin up and watched as Filip dressed.

“Are ye sure ye can’t stay? We could spend the day in bed, pretend the shite out there dinnae exist, just for a while...’  
He trailed off when he saw the pain flicker in Filip’s eyes.

“C’mon, you ken I’d love tae, but this is important. If I ever want tae get anywhere, I can’t be spending all day in bed with you, my love,” he said, before adding, softly, “however much I’d love tae.”  
  
He bent over the bed and kissed him gently, tracing his thumb over the apple of Niall’s cheek. Their foreheads met, breath mingling in the space left between them, which wasn’t much.  
They stayed like that for a long minute longer, Fillip working up the will to pull back.  
  
When he did, he saw the sorrow shadow his partner’s eyes, and had to turn in place to keep from surrendering. “Keep the bed warm fer me, I won’t be too long.”

He heard Niall’s legs swing out of the bed.  
“If you’re leaving, Fil, I have things tae do, too. There’s a new kid Jay’s got running and he’s a complete eejit. Told Jay I’d swing by and set ‘im straight on the do’s and don’ts.”  
Fillip nodded. They finished dressing in silence, a sense of foreboding thickening in their throats.

At the door, Fillip caught Niall’s hand and swung him back around to face him.  
“Niall… I really wid rather spend the day in bed with ye, pretend all this shite ain’t happening, ye know that, right?’  
Niall held his stricken gaze for a minute, before his big brown eyes softened, and he leaned in for one final kiss, safe in the confines of their sanctuary.

“Aye, I know,’ he whispered. ‘Ye really are a sappy git, ye know?’ He laughed.

“Gaun, get out there ye tosser,’ Fillip growled, and they let go of each other, squared up and back into their macho personas before exiting the building.   
  
They parted ways with a flash of a smile and a flick of the fingers. Niall headed down the street towards the south side of town and Fillip north up Ardoyne Road.  
The moment he left the house, the walls had come down and his mind roiled with worry once more. He lived a dangerous life; crime, violence and a male lover to top it all off. Trying to make a name for yourself in the IRA would never be easy or earn you a lot of popularity, but it would make him money and give him a reputation. A reputation he could hopefully use to keep the people he cared about safe. He’d get him and Niall the feck out of Belfast one day. That’s for sure.   
Maybe go to America?

It was with that thought rattling around in his mind that he heard the scream. It was coming from behind him, and he knew the voice like he’d know his own.  
He didn’t hesitate for a second, legging it back the way he’d come, ricocheting into Cranbrook Court, where Niall always cut across to Brompton Park.

The lads stood in a circle, kicking at something on the ground between them. Fillip yelled, the choking cry already hurling itself out of him.  
He pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and shot off a round at the wall next to them, worried about hitting the person caught between them.  
They scattered, leaving behind Niall, on his knees, his face bloody. Fillip fired again at the dispersing gang, catching one in the arm before they were out of range.  
A shrill weep cut his face in two as he threw himself forward down the road to where Niall wavered.

“Niall, Niall! Look at me, are ye ok?”  
Filip wheezed, dropping to his knees and gripping Niall’s arms, shook him.  
‘Talk tae me, dammit.’  
Niall continued to look off into the distance, but his hands moved up from his sides to his stomach, where Fillip noticed with growing horror the dark stain spreading across his shirt.

Niall found the wet patch, clenching and unclenching his sticky fingers, staring down wide-eyed at the crimson red liquid painting his hands, before he pitched forward.   
Fillip caught him, calling on every Saint and Mother Mary, and there weren’t enough Jesus Christs for this  
SHITE!  
The rest was a blur. He was pressing his hand over the wound, repeating himself.

“No, no, no, Niall don’t ye dare,” he squealed, blinded by the hot tears flooding his eyes and blurring his vision, “don’t feckin’ give up. I’ll get ye some help, just hold on. Don’t ye leave me DINNAE LEAVE ME!”  
  
His gaze flitted madly up and down the empty street, saw a few curtains twitching in windows.  
‘HELP!’ He yelled, voice hoarse. ‘Someone call an ambulance!’  
  
He didn’t know if anyone heard, so he ran to the nearest door, pounding on the chipping wood. Every few seconds he’d look over his shoulder at the love of his life sprawled and bleeding out on the ground.  
When no one answered, he moved to the next one, and the next, hammering and yelling, but no one came out.

Filip ran back to Niall, who’s golden skin was now waxy and pale, and knelt down beside him, lifting his head into his lap. He stroked his hair as he turned his gaze to the heavens and sobbed violently.

“It hurts,’ Niall gasped, the energy to speak dwindling his voice down to a whisper. “Oh fuck, Fil, it hurts.”

“We’re gonna get ye some help, just hold on...” Filip cried, knowing it was a lie. His soul was already beginning to mourn.

“I don’t think anyone’s coming for me, baby.’

“Please, Niall... dinnae leave me… yer my life.”

Niall coughed and crimson streamers poured from him, ribboning from his nostrils and the side of his mouth.  
They poured and poured but it wasn’t a party. Far from it.   
  
He raised a quaking bloodied hand to Fil’s cheek.  
“You’ll be all right. Ye have to be ok without me, noo.”  
His eyes were still a warm glow in his ashen face, still full of love despite the sweet curl of death wrapping itself around him.

“Dinnae leave me!” Fil cried, burying his face in the curve of Niall’s neck, nose pressed to that Celtic cross he hated.   
“I love ye,” he swayed back and forth, deep sobs racking his insides. “I love ye.”  
He stayed like that for a long time, even after he heard the siren’s approach, until firm hands prised his love’s body from his weakened arms.   
  
FIlip watched them take him from his place on the ground, on his knees still as if in prayer to a god that he no longer believed in.  
The god who’d turned his back on him.  
The god who’d taken away his only love.  
  
He was all alone in the world again.  
_

The mound of dirt sat at the edge of the cemetery, near the woods it backed into. Filip leaned on the shovel next to it. He had sweated through his shirt in the heat, but he didn’t care. He plopped down, the tears pouring down his face even now. They hadn’t stopped.  
They’d maybe never stop.  
He pressed a hand to the disrupted earth. The shuddering cries racked his body now, and he was glad for the privacy afforded him by the willow tree that draped its fronds around Niall’s grave.

He’d had no family, few friends, and the only person left to mourn him had dug him a grave and lowered him into it himself. There was no headstone to mark the spot, because there were no words that Fil could find to describe the loss he felt.

When the sobs subsided some time later, Filip stood.

“I’m so sorry this happened to ye, Niall. I’m sorry that I couldn’t save ye, my love. I wanted to hunt them down, those animals that took ye from me, but I can’t. I can’t focus my life on that, knowing you would have wanted more for me.’ He bent down and placed a single red rose on the mound, before straightening and taking up the spade.  
This was the first grave he dug. He didn’t know it then, but it wouldn’t be his last.  
Turning to leave, he blew his love a kiss.  
“We can’t allow our hearts to be louder than our reason. Know that I’ll always love ye, lad. Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought and if I'm the only emo freak who legit cried at the end (and yes I know I wrote it but still...)  
> Thank you for continuing to read this story and for taking to heart the original characters as well.  
> It's becoming so special.
> 
> Sorry if I murdered the locations, the Irish, the Scottish... I'm just not myself today after this chapter.


	11. Iris- Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael is trying his best to figure things out. But there are pleasant complications.

_And I’d give up forever to touch you  
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be  
And I don’t wanna go home right now…_

Goo Goo Dolls play softly in the background. His attention hangs on the words and Michael’s body wilts with each verse.  
He’s sat on the sofa in his underwear, the smell of sex and sweat still clinging to his pores.  
The shadow of someone walking past his house catches his eye, but then he’s right back to scratching behind Sam’s ear.  
The boxer looks up at him with a hung head and even sadder eyes than usual.  
“Yeah, Sammy. You and me both, boy,” he breathes.  
  
His phone sits next to him and one look at the screen is like a slap.  
 **Left on read. No missed calls.**  
What the fuck is going on with Juice?!  
  
The entire world seems to go forward in slow motion lately. He hears a roaring in his ears and it makes Michael rub into his temple with the heel of his free hand.  
The bedroom door opens a second later, and Michael’s almond gaze flits up.   
Flaco shakes out his t-shirt before pulling it over his head, the dark fabric a curtain over his perfect torso, still beaded wet from the shower.  
  
After their romp at the clubhouse, Py was feeling so goddamn lonely he called him to stay over again last night.  
“Hey papì… I gotta help Marcus with some tech shit today. Imma take off.”  
  
After slipping on his cut, he meets Michael in the middle of the room, who’s since stood up to join him.  
An extended finger circles over Py’s taut abs, hooks into the waistband of his boxer briefs.  
Michael inches near, their lips softly pressing. Both of them sigh when they pull off. He’s needed this. This has been good for him. A balm for Juice’s burn.  
“Thanks for coming over last night, Flaco. It was fun.”  
  
It’s not something he’s saying as a greeting goodbye. It actually was.  
He and Flaco get on and get _it_ on famously. All this would be easier if he were in love with Flaco and not a boricua cutie who’s been ignoring him for 4 days while he’s off on a fuck-ation in Portland.  
  
Flaco sees that Py’s face is sagging, so he grabs him by the arm and pulls him close, wrapping his arms around him.  
Py goes limp in his embrace and squeezes back.  
“It fucking sucks, dude.”  
“I know. I’m sorry you’re so sad, papì. Honestly. I feel ya, ‘ _mano_. I got me a guy in Korea Town, man it’s the same shit with him, too. I’ve been hung up on that _pendejo_ for a couple years now. When we’re on, it’s amazing. When we’re off, which is more and more the reality now, I’m fucking miserable.”  
Michael’s expression tumbles into something darker.  
  
“El amor es una putada, pero hay que echar pa’lante, ‘mano. No?” _Love’s a bitch but you have to go on, man. No?_  
“Ya lo sé, ‘mano.” _Yeah, I know man._  
A change in the pressure makes Py pull away. He drives a fist against his heart.  
“Thanks, Flaco. I mean it. Gracias por estar aquí.” _Thanks for being here._  
  
Flaco smooths his hair, an adoring twinkle gifting him a wink.  
“I got you. And… your Spanish is good, papito. Next time we’re fucking I’ll yell those sweet nothings to you in Mexican.” Flaco grabs his gun and tucks it in the small of his back. His chest shakes from laughter.  
Flaco Jimenez isn’t sure yet… but he could see himself falling for this guy. If he’d let him one day.  
  
“Hey Flaco…can I ask you something before you go?” Creases angle in toward the corners of Py’s gorgeous eyes.  
“Claro.” _Sure._  
Flaco squares his shoulders and tilts his head.  
“Why did you come back? I mean, don’t get me wrong: I like you. A lot. So I hope you don’t think I’m just using you for sex. But why are you sticking around knowing I’ve got this thing for Juice? That this might never turn out to be more than this?”  
Flaco’s large black eyes fill with shifting stars. He grins, and goddamn it might be the first time he actually takes Michael’s breath away.  
“Listen Michael… ain’t nobody using me. I love hanging out with you. I came back because I aint’ got shit going on, either. Why watch Netflix at home alone when I can watch it with you … in bed… and then I get dessert on top of that? You’re fucking hot. You’re sweet. You treat me good no matter what’s happening up in Charming.”  
“You’re amazing, Flaco.” What else can Py say to this?!  
  
His smile flashes briefly, a blush to his cinnamon skin making its tone deepen.  
“Whatever this is between us, ‘mano, I don’t care if it has a name so stop overthinking it. If this thing with your boricua don’t work out, I’m here, all right? I came back because never say never. I came back because stranger things have happened than two dudes in love with other guys who don’t want ‘em… eventually falling in love one day.”  
Bending forward, he kisses him once more. “I’m patient. I can wait. Plus, you suck dick like nobody I ever had- even Korea Town. And someone who can fuck with a ten-inch dick AND not make it hurt like angel fire? Shit. I’m gonna marry you one day, ese. ¡Ya verás _!_ ” _Just watch me._  
  
Michael hears himself laugh. It’s a light sound… one of happiness and delight. It’s been a minute.  
Is he… is his focus off? Is his obsession with Juice blinding him to something that might be _– and is_ \- staring him right in the face? Right here in Dino?  
“Thanks, sweetheart. To be honest, our sexual compatibility is something amazing. Very pleasantly so. And like you said- stranger things have happened.”  
  
“Can I give you a piece of advice, papì?”  
“Claro,” Py smirks.  
“Averigüemos qué está pasando antes de que haya algo mas. Vale? Voy a ser sincero aquí. No descartemos esto como trivial o una pérdida de tiempo. Siento que algo realmente sorprendente y mágico está sucediendo.” _Let’s find out what’s going on before there’s anything more. Okay? I will be honest here. Let’s not dismiss this as trivial or a waste of time. I feel like something really amazing and magical is happening_ _.  
  
_ Wow. This is the most candid Flaco’s ever been. His bit lip means he’s serious- and nervous about what he just revealed.  
The more he talks, the more Py thinks he’s making a good point. But he needs to sort things out with Juice. Understand what the fuck has transpired- if there’s any chance whatsoever for them now.  
  
“Okay, sweetheart. I agree. I’ll let you know what happens, okay?”  
“¡Órale!”  
  
That’s the best either can do right now. Maybe he’ll pay Korea Town a visit on his way home. Ask him what’s up for real. Flaco’s sick of this shit. If there’s any chance of something serious developing here with Michael, he wants to feel free to move on for real.  
“Baby, I gotta run. Prez hates it when we’re late. I’ll talk to you later, though, cool?”  
Michael’s not wearing a shirt, otherwise he would have grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a devastating kiss. Instead, he just blows him one on his way out.  
  
“I’ll figure stuff out in the meantime. Promise.” Michael’s inky eyes scanning his face makes him believe it.  
“Don’t fret, papì. I ain’t going nowhere. Me gustas papito intiendes...” _I like you, got it?_  
  
Oh shit. So Flaco just dropped that there, huh?   
“Have a good day, Flaco.” Py realizes with little displeasure he sounds like a husband and the smirk speaks for itself.  
“You too, baby,” Flaco replies, memorizing his lover’s features before disappearing. “Bye Sammy, take care of your dad…”  
  
The boxer hears his name, batting his long lashes lazily.  
“Fuck!”  
Py throws himself on the sofa and dials a number. AGAIN.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I'm back in SoA mode!


	12. Iris- Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael makes another call.

It’s ringing. And then FINALLY he hears a voice!  
“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, trying to get through for nearly three days.”  
  
There’s a held breath and then a soft voice breaks the silence. “Michael, I was in Scottsdale visiting my sister. Don’t you remember, I told you?”  
  
She did. He totally forgot since he’s been such a hot mess.  
“I’m sorry, Grandma. It totally slipped my mind. Here I was imagining you fell down the stairs and broke your neck or something. I was about to ride up to Portland. I have to get you a cell phone, nana.”  
 _  
Maybe I was looking for an excuse to drive up there?  
  
_ From her seat at the kitchen table, his grandma puts down her crocheting and furrows her brow.  
“Are you okay, Michael? You sound stressed, sweetheart.”

If that’s not the understatement of the fucking century!  
  
“I am, nana. A lot. I… I kinda need your advice about something.” Py’s head is pounding, and it’s not from alcohol. The tension in his neck is wiring up to his temples.  
  
“What’s going on?”  
Ever since his parents died in the accident, and his grandparents raised him, Michael and his nana grew particularly close, especially after his grandfather’s untimely death when he was 12.  
She wasn’t an old maternal figure, having had Michael’s mother at 20, she was only 42 when her daughter in turn had had her son.  
Perhaps theirs was an unnusual relationship, but she was literally all he had in terms of a father and mother.  
It’s not odd at all for him that he’d call her about his love life.  
  
“I met this guy, nana, when I was in Charming. He’s Redwood. Anyway, he’s amazing. He’s handsome and funny and tech smart like me, so we’ve got a ton to talk about it. We really hit it off.”  
 _He’s got a great body and a dick that won’t quit. And his ass…  
  
_ Michael clears his throat, beckoning Sam to follow him into the kitchen since he totally forgot he didn’t have his breakfast yet. He pours out a bowl for the dog, who patiently waits before Py gives him the signal with a rough scratch behind the ears, that he can dig in.  
Inching the dish over with his paw, the pup lowers his snout, not without staring up at his owner lovingly. As Py turns away to rinse his hands, he crunches away happily.  
  
“Well that’s wonderful, dear. So what’s the problem?”  
The more he’s dwelling on all this shit, the more he’s losing his appetite. A quick glance to the cereals neatly stacked in alphabetical order atop his fridge results in his stomach turning over.  
I’ll just have coffee, he thinks.  
  
Flaco’s scent still permeates the air- and it’s not unpleasant.  
Along with his cologne, his words are still floating there- like a warm blanket wrapped around Michael’s aching heart.  
“Me gustas papito intiendes...” _I like you, got it?”_  
  
He’s grinning to himself like a dumb teenager when the voice on the other line startles him.  
“Michael, are you there?”  
  
Jesus he’s all over the place. He totally forgot he’s standing there in the kitchen with his phone hooked into the crook of his shoulder.   
“Yeah, sorry nana. Um… the problem is I thought we were going to try this. To be fair, he told me he was pining after another man when we got together, but…”  
“And who’s this other man?” she chimes in, her dark ivy eyes scanning the new patterns.  
  
Opening a cabinet to look for a new tin of brew, Michael sighs.  
“His VP. Things were going great and then they got sent to Portland together, just the two of them. I haven’t heard from him since.”  
“I see. So you think this man and he have gotten together?”  
Her frown has traveled across the line.  
  
“Yeah.”  
“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s feeling anymore.  
Confusion?  
Anger?  
“I thought I might have been falling in love with him, nana. I was ready to ask Packer for a transfer. But now I’m not so sure. Things got complicated here, too.”  
  
Oh these men, she thinks. Sometimes they’re magnets for trouble, especially Michael. He’s too good.  
“Complicated how?”  
“Well…” Again, sparing unnecessary detail, he explains… “There’s a guy I met here. I was upset. We’ve been hanging out, and now- now I think maybe I’m focusing on the wrong man in the wrong place. Jesus, Grandma, I’m a mess.”  
  
“Let me ask you something, Michael.”  
He stops, the tin opener in one hand.  
“Who’s answered your calls? Who was there with you… and above all- who has made you smile when thinking about him, and who’s been making you sad?”  
  
Michael’s heart flutters. He was just grinning like a stupid teenager.  
Flaco is here. Flaco answers his texts and fucking comes when he’s invited over. Flaco said he’d be willing to wait on him.  
But Juice… Jesus what he and Juice had was so amazing… and in so short a time…  
  
The phone dangerously perched on the edge of the bony part of his shoulders edges down as he shakes out the coffee filter. “Hold on. I forgot my ear buds so I’m putting you on speaker, nana.”

“Michael- I hate being on speaker, Michael. Michael!“  
  
He giggles as he presses the button. “It’s only for a minute, nana. So… what you’re saying is, fight for the guy who would fight for you?”  
  
“You’re a smart man, Michael.”  
These compliments coming from her are honeysweet on his ears. He knows she means it, and that most of the time this woman is right.  
“I raised you to be good-hearted. Once in a while, though, sweetheart- you have to think about yourself. Your happiness. Because from where I’m sitting that’s exactly what this other man is doing. Ignoring yours for his. It takes a second to send a text or answer a call.”  
  
If someone were to look in on him, they’d see that his features are carrying a startling load of emotion.  
“You’re right, nana.”  
“I know,” she quips.  
“Thanks, nana. I love you,” he says before chuckling.  
“I love you, too, Michael. You let me know how it all goes.”  
  
He’s no closer to resolution, but this talk has put a lot of what he already knew in his heart in perspective.  
Now all he needs is to hear the truth from the source.  
One way or another he needs to fucking get Juice to communicate with him.  
  
He's about to sift the beans when his phone vibrates.   
It's a text... and of course it's NOT from Juice.   
  
"Se terminó con Korea Town. Ahora la pelota está en tu cancha, papito. :)"   
_It's over with Korea Town. Now the ball is in your court, papito. :)  
  
_ Michael's staring at the words- the corners of his mouth curling upwards. 

“Who has made you smile?” His nan had said. 

Why is Flaco making this so easy on him?!   
  



	13. Don't Call It Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice and Michael finally talk and one of them decides his fate.  
> (Michael's POV).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn I know it's been long. I'm sorry. I'll be swinging back into the groove now, I broke the spell of whatever was holding me back.  
> Thanks for your understanding and I hope this chapter makes up for the wait.

**Two weeks after Portland:**  
  
  
“Michael, we need to talk.”  
  
Py’s expression is slack, his dark eyes wet, dull. Bending forward, his palm holds his head up.  
Sam nuzzles his snout against his leg, and almost instinctively the pup brings his face up, resting it on Michael’s thigh.   
  
Py blinks.  
Sam blinks.  
Juice hisses air from between his teeth on the other end of the line. “Michael… fuck. Chibs and I…. _it’s complicated.”_

Suddenly clarity hits, with each heavy word that drops from Juice’s lips the ungiving wood of the chair grows harder against his rump.   
No. It isn't fucking complicated, he wants to scream. You made a choice.   
  
Justified punishment perhaps. His ass hurts, the seat to this chair has never felt this jagged. Like he doesn’t deserve to be comfortable. If he has to suffer, he has to suffer all the way, with the weight of two men sloping his shoulders.  
The weight of Juice and Chibs.  
  
“Jesus Christ. Eighteen days, Juice,” the pads of his fingers rub into his weary eyes, setting off pyrotechnics behind his lids. He's scrambling to latch onto the million words filling his head at once.   
“Eighteen fucking days and not a peep! All it would have taken was a fucking text, dude. _VP and I hooked up. I warned you. Sorry but it’s over_. Something! Not goddamn fucking silence leaving me to assume the worst.”  
  
Py can almost see Juice sitting there, on the corner of his bed. One bent leg on each side. The affection that burned in his toffee brown eyes, crinkling at the corners when he laughs… there’s none left for him now, for sure.  
No spark.   
No levity.   
He can envision Juice’s knee bouncing from underneath the towel wrapped around his trim waist, the beads of water still stuck and pregnant on his back because he just hates to dry off properly.  
  
It’s easy to let his imagination run. He’s not stupid or deaf. Py can hear the shower running in the background, it’s faint but he can hear it. Chibs and Juice just got done fucking, more likely than not. Juice came first, then showered first. Classic cheater move. While Chibs was in there, he’d have enough privacy to make this quick obligatory call.  
Michael tortures himself with visions of Juice coiled back, eyes pressed shut in ecstasy as he bull-rides the fuck out of Chibs’ cock.  
  
“Py, you there?” There’s an edge to the question and Michael can’t decide if Juice is sorry or pissed that the conversation isn’t going how he expected.  
He’s not a saint, for sure. He’s been fucking Flaco for weeks. But Michael isn’t the one who flaked. He isn’t the one running away from this issue, ignoring texts and muting phone calls.  
  
“I really don’t have much to say, Juice.”  
He doesn’t. There’s a shiver stealing down his spine of pure exhaustion. His fingers reach to the middle of the kitchen table, where something glimmers against the morning sunshine and catches his attention.  
Flipping it over, Py recognizes it. He can’t help but grin.  
A lighter with a skull embossed and PUTAMADRE etched on its surface, silver on black.  
Puta madre indeed.  
Flaco forgot his lighter on purpose. It’s the first thing he grabs, even before his gun.  
Py's grin widens.   
  
Suddenly Michael’s attention reverts from Juice’s imagined house in Charming to his own apartment in Dino. His kitchen. He surveys everything in his line of vision.  
The lighter on the table.  
A pair of boots in the foyer.   
Flaco's checkered shirt hanging from the hook by the back door.   
A six-pack of Tecate he left for later. Half the fridge is full of Flaco's groceries.   
In a different room, there's a dedicated drawer stuffed with his lover's underwear, deodorant, and rolled up socks. His green toothbrush crookedly sticks out of a glass next to Michael's.   
  
Sam comforts him with unconditional love and the warm sensation in his chest spreads. It just dawns on him in that moment: Flaco is leaving shit behind at his place. He's already staked his claim. He's slowly moving in. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Charming. “Michael, let me come to Dino. We can talk this through. So much happened in Portland, it makes little sense to do this over the phone. I need to explain, baby-“  
  
BABY?! What gives him the right to call me baby?! Does he still think he can salvage this?  
  
Juice hasn’t said sorry once. He was free to fuck whoever he wanted, fine, but ghosting like this? Dick move. He can't see him but Michael's wagging his head.   
  
“Juice, I’m tired. I really don’t think you coming here will solve anything. Not right now. We’re doing a run up there next week, Packer and a few of the guys. If you want, I’ll ride up and we can talk then. Right now I just need some space, okay? This shit seriously fucked with me, brother.”  
  
Michael’s sense of loss is now beyond tears. The pleasurable times that so quickly transformed into long silences and one-word answers all stare back at him like a crooked billboard.  
Sighs chest deep, too long to be born of physical exhaustion that accompanied his days have made his soul ache.   
  
He can’t live like this. Doesn’t want to more than anything else.  
They both deserve better than forced mediocrity.

 **Michael, we need to talk.** Fuck you, Michael thinks. And fuck me for thinking this could work. The signs _were_ there. Had he completely forgotten their first conversation?!  
My bad, he thinks.  
  
Bending forward, he turns the lighter over 90 degrees. Again. One more time.  
Juice is probably stressing over the deafening silence on his end. Michael doesn’t give a shit.  
The shower has stopped, the faint drizzle no longer audible. Watch Juice end the conversation, Py thinks.  
“If that’s what you want, Michael, I guess I’ll see you next week.”  
  
And there it is. Motherfucker.   
There’s a bark outside, and Sam’s ears perk up. The schnauzer from across the street is walking past. Py scratches Sam behind the ears, darting his own gaze to the ceiling.  
The fan is whirling on slow and Michael suddenly wonders why those things always look so precarious. Like they’re going to unhinge and plummet down at any minute, beheading the poor sap sitting below.  
Which in this moment is him?  
He realizes he’s taking longer than he should to reply. His very essence hurts.  
  
Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Michael’s thumb hovers over the red button.  
“Yeah, that’s what I want, Juice. Take care.”  
  
_

“More wine?”

Michael smiles as he gazes up adoringly at Flaco, who’s doing his best to be a gracious host although they’re actually at _Py’s._  
  
The atmosphere is unique tonight. The energies have shifted, an air of almost domestic bliss pervading the evening. Flaco cooked, looking devastatingly gorgeous as he did so. Forgoing his usual t-shirt under the cut, he’d come over wearing a dark v-neck sweater and tight jeans. Michael was so taken aback- he was striking when he was dressed like a taxpayer and not like a criminal.   
  
They’d had a quick drink as Flaco unpacked the groceries he’d brought with him. The only mentions of their new romantic statuses happened quickly and while the meal was being prepared.  
Neither wanted to dwell on all that chaos, especially not while in the other’s pleasant company.  
Flaco fed him veggies as he chopped.  
Michael slowly melted into a puddle on his kitchen floor.  
_  
  
“Flaco, I’ve never had red wine with _chiles en nogada_ ,” says Michael, dragging a napkin across his mouth. “It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?”  
Flaco, coal eyes flitting over to him, notices the softened expression on his face.  
He’s glad. As soon as he’d arrived Flaco knew he’d talked with Juice. There were creases he’d never seen on Py’s brow. In fact, he wanted to make it his mission tonight to distract Michael. Make him forget Juice and remember why he'd been hanging out so much with him.   
  
Py fixes a strand of his inky hair and a breath catches in Flaco’s throat. Jesus, it’s almost endearing how cute they are together.  
  
Clearly flushed with spirits and spicy food, Py’s cheeks have pinked over. His lover has one of the most nefarious ideas to warm up Py’s complexion even further.  
“Why don’t we finish the last glass in the living room?”

“Oh… uh, by all means,” says Michael, grabbing his wine glass and leading the way to the sofa. Sam patters behind the men, rolling into a doughnut in his bed which rests to the side of the loveseat.

“So to answer your question, my _abuelita_ is from Puebla. She taught me to make it,” he replies with a wink. “When I get my kids on the weekends, I make it for them.”  
  
“How often do you get to see them?” Py asks, hoping not to pry.   
  
Flaco breathes out. “I get Manuela two weekends a month. Carlos sometimes alternates, but when I can I try to organize with their moms so they see each other. Being half-brother and sister you know, it’s a shame they don’t get to hang out that much.”  
  
“Do their moms get along?” Jesus, families sometimes were unnecessarily complicated. He would know, since his parents died and grandparents raised him, if that didn’t qualify as “complicated” nothing did.   
“Now they do. But it took years. I was a dick back then, papì," there's a sincere look of contrition on his face. "I got with Evangelina, knocked her up, when I was still with Maria, and Manuela was three then. It was a clusterfuck. I learned my lesson, though. I’m lucky I got two great kids, mano, and I would die for them. But I’m not fucking around with women no more. Sometimes I got drunk and forgot to wrap my shit, if it happens now, at least I’m not getting some dude pregnant. Fuck being a player, papì. I’m a one man type of guy now.”  
  
Nodding slowly, a renewed ardor to his eyes, Michael takes another sip, letting his tongue linger on the edge of the glass. A simper plays on his lips. “One man, huh?”

Flaco returns the gaze, grabbing up the bottle to fill his glass. “Si. Uno." The booze decides for him to progress things a little further. "Me doy cuenta que tú me has conquistado.”  
 _Yes. One_. _I realize that you have conquered me._  
  
Michael places his glass on the side table and leans in, his pulse racing and his mind abuzz. “Esta sonrisa es mia, pero la razon eres tú.” _This smile is mine, but the reason is you._  
  
"Come here, papì," Flaco whines. When he shuffles to sit closer to him, it feels almost natural as their lips touch gently. The kiss is soft and hesitant; he wants to show Michael just how much he cares about him, despite the brief time that they have spent together.  
  
He wraps a hand around his neck, cupping his face and bringing them closer. The kiss deepens, long velvet strokes of their tongues exploring their mouths fully.  
Flaco’s warm hands grab at Py’s shirt, urging him to continue.  
"Look at me," Michael purrs.   
Their sex has always had an edge of urgency. Sometimes violence. Never so gentle and loving. It’s like nothing they’ve done before.

“Don’t stop,” Flaco whispers as he pulls back to get a look at him, only to inch forward on his hands to reach Michael’s face again. It's like he's addicted to him. All of him.   
  
Michael pulls off his shirt in one swift movement and Flaco traces his outstretched fingers over his pale chest, feeling the muscles that cover his torso.  
Py’s hands grab the hem of Flaco’s sweater. “Let me,” he sits up and the garment billows to the ground.

Michael’s hands are incandescent as they rake soft flesh, before he licks and nibbles gently at his nipples. Flaco giggles in pleasure and gently guides them to the floor, the sofa too narrow.  
Flaco’s kisses travel down Michael’s stomach, inching then to his zipper.  
  
“I need you,” he breathes. Flaco’s already removing his own pants with his other hand, and Michael can feel his hard cock brushing repeatedly against his leg. Another loud gasp escapes Py’s lips when the cool air hits his moist sex next.

Flaco tests the seam of his lips, retreats, before his face hovers above Michael’s once more. Eyes filled with longing, he rests his weight on his arms as they kiss again, his erect sex a brand against his hip now.  
“Fuck me, Flaco,” Michael begs, thrusting gently upwards.  
“Papito… lemme get a… ”  
  
Py reaches a hand down to gently guide him. “You meant what you said about being monogamous?”  
Shit. Of course he did. “Yeah, papì. Yeah.”  
  
“I’m clean, Flaco.”  
Flaco nods, the insinuation clear. “Me too. Just got tested. Haven't been with anyone except you since Korea Town."   
  
Without saying a word, Michael advances. In a press of teeth there is a sigh and a bucking of hips. They both tense up in pleasure as Flaco’s cock slips inside.  
Deep red half moons appear on Flaco’s shoulders like claim marks as Py clings to him.  
  
“Fuck me deep, baby. Please.”  
  
Some expletives in Spanish escape his lips as he arches his back to thrust in almost blind abandon.  
Both of them pick up on it- every cell in their body beseeching union!  
Their laments are loud, having no concept of the rest of the world, or of time, they just let themselves go. They cling to each other, and Flaco grazes over Michael’s soft freckled skin as he tunnels into him, bringing them both that much closer to the edge.  
Even though it's rough, there's a controlled softness to it at the same time. It's driving Michael insane. Everything is tingling and he's that much farther into falling completely for him.   
  
After a while, when they're a tangle of limbs and Py can't do any more to feel completely meshed with him.. Flaco nips into the tender skin above his clavicle and halts.  
  
“What’s wrong, baby?” Michael’s eyes are blown onyx, his hair a disheveled nest. He’s completely blissed out, mind racing to come up with ways he could just fucking melt into Flaco.  
“You sure? About coming inside? I’m close, papì.”

“Positive,” he replies softly and without hesitation, places his hands on his hips in encouragement. Looking straight into his eyes, he punctuates every word. “Come inside me.”

“Mierda,” _shit!”_ Flaco ducks his head down and licks Py’s jaw, his neck, all the way down to the hollow of his throat. He's murmuring beautiful things to him, things in worship of his body, his mind, his sex, his _everything._  
Below, his lunges are relentless, consciousness blown the way he knows Michael's body and all its kinks.   
  
Py cries out in pleasure; shuddering with every stroke of his fiery tongue and searing cock. His nails leave gentle red dents in Flaco’s golden thighs as Flaco stills, groaning and soon after a rumble rollling from his chest out like thunder.  
  
“Fuck, papì, FUCK! I'm coming!”  
Michael can sense nothing but visceral pleasure and the potent smell of musk in the air. It’s an intoxicating rush that makes Py’s entire body go numb for a moment. He can feel himself release right then, no hands, when Flaco fills his heat with his spend, double hits on his gland milking it as he does so.   
Michael gasps for air, only to let it all out in a single long moan of pleasure. “Jesus Christ!”  
  
The warmth trickles down his legs, Flaco’s come literally dribbling out as Michael’s pulses out of his own cock. He squirts repeatedly between their chests, hitting Py’s lower lip with two drops. Flaco sees it, drops to lick it up and their muscles flick over each other in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss.  
  
They both collapse onto one another when breath is caught and sexes have softened. Flaco rolls over to rest on Py’s shoulder, and he wraps an arm around him, holding him protectively. Michael relaxes into it. 

“Damn, papì,” Flaco holds his gaze a moment as he brushes against his thigh with the back of his hand. “What the fuck was that?”  
  
Desire concretes into actual flesh and blood in front of him. Something beautiful coats his tone, Michael savoring every sinuous sweet word he's about to utter.  
“We just made love, Flaco. We just made love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to comment and kudo! Stay safe and sane out there.


	14. A Ghrá mo Chroí - Part 1 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice is acting oddly, takes off for DINO in the middle of the night.  
> From his perch in bed, Chibs loses himself in thought, thinking back to Belfast... back to more carefree times when he first met Niall and the events surrounding his life felt more in his control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be up sometime between today and tomorrow EU time. Just finishing editing it. The chapter ended up being like 16 pages so I decided to break it into two parts.

Chibs wakes up when the sun filters in through his curtains. His first instinct is to reach over, caress Juice's shoulder and plant a soft kiss on his cheek.   
When he feels for him, splayed fingers grab at pillow fluff. His eyes still mostly shut from photophobia and the remnants of the bad dream he was having, his exploration only continues as far as the drawn sheet.   
The place next to him is empty. Cold.   
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his knuckles, he sits up and scans the room. As his vision adjusts, he finds things missing.   
Juice first and foremost.  
The shower isn't running, and Juice's clothes are gone from where he'd left them on the chair by the closet. The bag he'd brought with him to stay the weekend is gone.   
  
What the fuck is going on? Chibs thinks.   
Then he sees it. There's a note on the nightstand written in Juice's handwriting, folded perfectly in half. Filip could recognize this penmanship anywhere. _  
  
Chibs,  
__Sorry I took off in the middle of the night. I would have told you but I didn't want to wake you, you were sleeping so soundly. I would have written you a message but I know you have your alerts on. I'm feeling... all over the place. This shit, how it went down with Py and what happened in Portland,_ _I just feel like I need a minute to process. I think I royally fucked up.  
I'm riding down to Dino, baby. I'm sorry but I need to set things straight with Michael. I need a few hours to myself, too. The ride will do me good. I texted Jax, told him I need a personal day. It wasn't right how things played out with Michael and I need to tell him some stuff face to face.   
I'll be back Sunday night or Monday. I'm sorry. I don't want you to worry, okay? I'm just going to fix this so there's no weirdness between DINO and SAMCRO on account of me.   
I'll text you when I get down there.   
Juice   
_  
Chibs holds the paper between his fingers. He's wondering if this a continuance of some nightmare he was having? Has he not woken up?  
"Jesus Christ," he whispers to himself, letting the letter fall onto his lap.   
He doesn't know to think or feel. It's not sunk in yet, not this situation nor why Juice has been acting so weird the past few days.  
Right now he's too tired to even want to figure this out.   
  
Reaching past the alarm clock, he grabs the pack of cigs and a lighter. As Filip sucks in the first drag, he lets his head drop against the headboard. Shutting his eyes to the light, to reality, to the sting in his heart... he thinks back to a faraway place. An even further point in time.   
Back when he thought he was in control of his life... and he was naive enough to think there'd be a happily ever after with Niall. _  
__  
******************************************************************************************************************  
  
  
“Don’t you ever leave me alone  
My war is over  
Be my shelter from the storm  
My war is over  
I am a sad boy”  
  
_  
_  
  
Thoughts itched, until Chibs scratched them. Then they travelled back in time. Back to Glasgow. The last fateful scene replayed in his mind as the hum of chatter and a blaring jukebox disrupted his inner soundtrack.  
  
_The greetings of people in trouble  
__Reflections of my life  
__Oh, how they fill my eyes  
__Oh, my sorrows  
__Sad tomorrows  
__Take me back to my own home…_

  
Shite. That was the trigger. The song. _That_ feckin’ song had been playing his last night in Scotland. It all flooded back, and the more vivid the scene the closer Chibs drew his limbs to his body.  
The backroom of a warehouse. A winter’s night. The chill that had crept in... it was as if Filip could perceive his skin prickling all over again.  
  
Filip burying his burning face into the corded muscles of James’ right pec as soon as he spit the last words; Filip’s throat so constricted he could barely breathe.  
“Ye need to go, lad. Far from here.”  
“Jesus Christ,” he’d whispered, the cinch around his heart tightening with each subsequent breath. “I dinnae want to go," he sniffled.   
  
With James, there’d been no need to pretend or hide his emotions. Ever. Not when they were cut from the same cloth… partners in crime and best friends since birth.  
Every weakness was mirrored in the other because they were two halves making up one whole. But as entwined as their defects were, so was their power.  
“We’re stronger together, James,” Fil had begged. “Dinnae make me go.” He failed at hiding the vibrating treble to his voice.  
  
James had wagged his copper head, squeezing Filip tighter to his heaving chest, wishing he could lock him away in his fortress. Protect him from the streets, from the hit hanging over his head.  
It wasn’t for lack of trying. James had gone, bended knee to the boss. Pleaded for them with wide robin egg eyes to take _him_ instead. He would have done that for him. He would have willingly died for Filip.  
But it was to no avail.  
So, here they were. Filip's duffle packed and thrown into the back of a sedan. His papers and five thousand quid stuffed into his inner jacket lining.   
  
The air in the room smelled like unspoken confessions and diesel. No doubt, fecking proper men cried when it was warranted. Filip let the hot drops form in the corner of his sad eyes and when James pulled him off, and Filip fingered his shirt experimentally, as if testing the command he had over his digits… James shook his head once more, blinked back his own salty emotions.  
“Go, Fil. And dinnae look back, please… forget me. Forget this place. There's nothing left for ye here, lad.”  
“James… “ Chibs’ voice cracked.

How on earth could he forget the only family he ever really had?

_  
  
Niall was saying something, but Fil was in some trance. Chibs wouldn’t have snapped out of it so quickly if it hadn’t been for the click of pool balls hitting each other from the corner of the room and a shout of exultation bringing him crashing back to the now.  
His eyelids felt gummy and his throat hurt. Niall’s cologne wafted over, a pleasant alternative to the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke in the place.  
  
Belfast. Right.  
Niall. Right.  
Filip wasn’t in Glasgow anymore and he probably wouldn’t be ever again, he wagered. There was nothing there for him, James had been right. Nothing except for a death sentence.  
  
Chibs caught the tail end of what his friend was saying and held up his pint of Guinness in a salute, the dark liquid sloshing back and forth from the movement. “Here’s to us. And here’s to Ireland.”  
Niall smiled, his handsome face rearranging itself into a satisfied grin when Filip transferred his gaze to him. The arresting good looks of his Scottish companion completely captured Niall’s attention, (until the spike of heat rose within him, that is).  
That’s when Niall bent his sooty head, lowering his thick lashes to hide the longing.  
Too much of a risk lest he be betrayed in this place.

Granted, this was a local pub, two blocks from the council flat where Niall had been living since his “promotion” to street runner. Of the four people stupored at the counter, and the two tucked away in a corner opposite, nobody gave a shit about a Scot and a known face throwing back pints in a booth. This was Belfast, people drank at all hours of the day just trying to drown out their feckin' existences.   
But being prudent was something Niall had learned the hard way. A healed stab wound to his thigh was a permanent reminder of what happened when he took things for granted. If he were seen being overly “friendly” with another man, it wouldn’t do his reputation any favors.   
  
Something shifted in Chibs’ gut when he got lost in that gleaming grin now facing him. The sparkle to Niall’s round midnight eyes and his lightly flushed face mingled arousal and tenderness.  
It was duly noted, the desire. And reciprocated. Filip felt immediately lured in by Niall’s tempting, attractive presence.  
It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last.  
  
“It sounds incongruous, in yer Scottish accent, bai.”  
“Och aye,” laughed Chibs, the tone of adoration he was about to use quickly veiled. They were in public. It would be foolhardy to show themselves affectionate.  
The secrecy… the pining… it added to the overall excitement for him. It’d been going on for a while, their little dance. 

Chibs hoped it would stop tonight. Not stop in the sense of end- but finally push things well past go. They’d kissed two days earlier, desperately so, while helping one another navigate a Jameson-induced fog. (That did the trick to sobering them up). They’d groped each other and figured out the mystery of how hard they could get from it.  
  
The evening had been the result of a long buildup of sexually tense moments that had snowballed over weeks, but regardless of the palpable intent things hadn’t progressed any further.   
The next day, under the light of a rare sunny Belfast morning, both admitted to never having been with men _that way_ before.  
Niall had lifted his head, pinning Filip with a feral look. “I want ye,” he’d breathed. “I do. You’re the first man I’ve ever considered… _I want ye_ ,” he repeated with a voice that was barely a whisper. _  
_ Filip had grabbed his trembling hand, bringing it to his whiskered mouth for a kiss. “Aye, me too. Me too.”  
  
It had to happen when it felt right, Filip figured. There was no sense in forcing something so monumental between them. (Even though Chibs was sick of waking up in his bed covered in come like some teenager, teasing visions of his dark Irishman riding his cock still on loop behind his eyelids. Meanwhile, Niall jerked off every night to a similar fantasy).  
  
“Don’t ye underestimate me. I’m here to fight.”  
“Here’s to that!” Niall held his own Guinness up to Chibs’, keenly aware of his scrutiny. Their glasses touched and chinked before they took long pulls on the dark beer.

“This is good,” said Chibs, wiping some foam from his mustache with the back of his hand. “Somehow tastes better in Ireland.”

“You’re telling me,” replied Niall. “This is class. Better than your Irn Bru or whatever the feck it is.”

“Hey noo, no need to insult! Anyway, is it better than a good Scotch?” he winked.

Jesus those almond eyes longingly traveling down his body were doing things to Niall. Reactions he shouldn’t have been having in the middle of a pub.  
“You’ve got me there, Fil. You’ve got me.”  
_Yeah, you’ve really got me good. Nothing is better than a good Scotch... or a good Scot._

The young men continued to converse, ignoring the magnetic pull between them. Pretending their pulses weren’t racing and that they weren’t half hard in their denim.  
They were in excellent spirits and excited about the evening ahead.  
They’d received a tip about a fight that night, just out of town, which would be Chibs’ first real group altercation in Belfast.

“So, ye think yer gonna be here for a long while, like?” Niall inquired, flattening down a weak curl from his forehead.

“Och aye,” Chibs nodded. “A’m here to win it. I mean, a’m here for the ‘craic’, like.”

Niall burst out into a belly laugh, elbowing him. “Stick to yer Scottish accent, bai. Pretending to be Irish makes ye sound like a twat.”

Chibs’ eyes flitted around the pub. It was full of men, but still nobody close. He shifted in his place so his back was to the bar and his body shielded vision. A warm hand clamped over Niall’s thigh, beneath the table, and he leaned in to murmur: “A’m here to be with ye, too, ye ken.”

“Aye,” Niall clasped his palm over Chibs’, squeezing. Looking straight into those inky pools, he drew it two inches over, just grazing the bulge there. A simper curling his pert lips, he mouthed “Can’t wait for tonight, neither.”  
“Christ,” Filip hissed… his latest dream swooping back in. “Make sure ye dinnae get hit in the nuts,” he joked. "I'd like all the parts to be workin'."  
  
Letting the fleshy part of his palm dangerously linger a moment longer, the stirring beneath bellowed the fire in Chib’s groin. Filip’s cock was throbbing and now of all times he had to piss!

“Back in a sec’, lad,” said Chibs, reluctant to give up the contact but knowing they couldn’t have kept on much longer, anyway.   
“Aye, all right.”  
He drained his drink and stood, straightening his leather vest. Niall happily admired his perfect ass on the walk over. Strutting into the men’s room, Filip was happy to see nobody inside.

\---

After relieving himself, (which was a bit of a challenge with a stiff dick), Chibs washed his hands and studied his face in the mirror. As he was projecting himself to the next task, another man entered the room then, whom he recognized as one of the counter patrons. They politely ignored each other as he claimed one of the urinals.  
Chibs glared into the glass, watching his nostrils flare with anger he didn’t yet possess. Fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, he was psyching himself up for the fight.  
  
Jesus, he loved and hated this life at the same time; petty crime…the danger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what he knew best, and if he’d made it this far, he knew he was good at it, too.  
And now he had one more reason to make his peace with it: Niall. He loved sharing it all with Niall. His friend made the darkness a little brighter.  
  
Splashing a handful of chilly water over his unshaven face, he flicked back the front of his ebony hair. A moment’s attention traced the scars on his face, but he swept away the sadness and let his focus return to something pleasant, like his sexy man sitting at the booth just outside the doors.

The other occupant left in the meantime, without washing his hands. Scrunching his face with disgust, Chibs followed him out and back into the bar.

\---

Niall was sat, fiddling with the edge of the coaster. Just a little Guinness pooled in his glass.  
Chibs was surprised to have finished before him: usually, he drank like a fish.

“Ye all right, lad? You doing okay?”

Niall looked up at him, his black eyes shimmering beneath the low pub light. “I’m grand,” he said, beaming. He necked his pint and stood up, smoothing his soft curls with his fingers.  
The Irishman had been reflecting about how much better his life had been since he met Filip. He hadn’t smiled this much in years. But he was also afraid. Other deeper sentiments had been surfacing within him.   
But this wasn't the time or the place for such a discussion. He himself didn't know when he'd feel comfortable bringing it up, if ever. 

“You ready?” Niall asked, inhaling so deeply his ribcage expanded. His heart was fluttering.   
Filip knew he meant the fight, but Chibs was also thinking about what would happen afterwards. He fought the urge to reach out and kiss him.

“Was born ready, lad.”

\---

Chibs and Niall stepped onto their cruiser motorcycles. After switching on the ignition, they sat on their idling bikes for several minutes. It wasn’t their intention, but they looked intimidating and figured it was a suitable moment to make an impression. Both found it amusing to watch passers-by react to them.

Some people, particularly the younger ones, would gawk at them with intrigue. As Chibs revved his engine, several teenage girls turned onto the busy street.  
One waved and another blew them a kiss, all of them erupting into giggles.  
Filip was aware of the effect he had on people, especially women. He grinned at Niall, who fastened his helmet. “We’re the ones their mothers warned them aboot.”  
“Aye, that we are.”  
Had anyone passed between them, they wouldn't have needed a blinking sign to see the way they were eye-fucking each other.  
“She’s ready,” Niall said, patting his bike.

“Aye, mine too.” After looking over his shoulder, Filip pulled out onto the street. They accelerated, their bikes growling as they raced away.

\---

Leading, aware of Niall in his mirrors the entire time, Filip couldn’t stop grinning. He felt free as every hair on his scalp stood to attention and every skin cell tingled. Coming to Belfast had given him a new lease on life, literally. Had he remained in Glasgow he'd have been killed by now. Perhaps even taking James with him, because the way James was wired he'd have never let him face certain death alone.   
So it all turned out for the best. He had a new life here, James was safe, and now he had Niall.   
  
It was only a brief ride to the scene of the fight ahead, but it was enough to give him that euphoria that he adored. What was even better was that he’d be able to do all this with Niall.  
As they filtered past cars and shops, turning heads once more, he felt like a true outlaw. This shit was what he lived for. Perhaps one day he'd join a motorcycle club, he thought. 

\---

Following closely behind Chibs, Niall admired his riding skill (and not only). He was always confident on the road, a natural. It was something Niall envied him. He was new to riding, still finding his feet so to speak. He looked at Chibs as a leader, in motorcycling as well as in their “business and recreational” activities.  
Two years younger, Niall was the baby of the group. He still felt he had a lot to prove.

As he noticed Chibs slowing down in front of him, he checked behind him, pulled in the clutch and shifted down his gears. This was it, they’d arrived. More motorcycles flooded the street. Full stop, into neutral, side stand down.  
He took his keys and dismounted. He followed Chibs to the leather-clad group ahead.

\---

There were over 20 men, standing in a half circle and talking loudly, some with beer bottles waving in the air as they gestured.

“Oi oi, Niall! Chibs!”   
“Angel,” said Chibs, nodding his head in greeting at the older man. Niall did the same.

“Lads,” the president said, “Glad you could make it. They’re not here yet, as you can see. Fuckers better not chicken out.”

Chibs squinted, surveying the grounds. He pulled a cigarette pack from his vest pocket and tapped it out, offering one to Niall and Angel before sucking one out for himself.  
“Nah, they’ll be here,” he muttered as his lighter snapped shut. "Pride is a bitch."  
  
This fight was a serious one; it indicated what his time in Ireland would all be about. This group; the one he stood with as he rolled back his shoulders, loosening himself up, was the pro-IRA band. The step before joining the IRA itself.  
“Everyone knows the IRA are tougher than those cunts,” Angel muttered to Chibs, “Not sure it’s a fair fight, really.”

As he said that, the sound of distant engines shook the gravel beneath their feet. The gang positioned themselves into a line, jaws tensing and muscles flexed. They were ready for action as the opposition arrived.

\---

Chibs fucking loved to fight. It gave him a hard-on as much as desire did.  
As the first punches were thrown, he felt a rush of energy surge through him that nothing else in the world could manufacture. He moved like a machine, spinning in place and side-stepping hits. He matched the snarls of his opponents before throwing his steely fists into their jaws. There was a war drum pounding between his ears- the more he heard bones crack the more his bloody smile creased his face.  
Every once in a while he took stock of Niall; the lad was doing well, holding his own. He’d learnt the ropes, all he needed was more confidence and more practice.  
With the lifestyle they’d chosen, hell… there would be plenty of opportunities to excel in both.

Receiving an unexpected crack to his cheekbone, Chibs staggered. Fucker.  
This just motivated him more. He charged at his attacker and rammed him into one of the anti-IRA fighters’ motorcycles. The man and the bike toppled to the ground, and his groan meant he wasn't getting up any time soon. Chibs approached his next victim, his curled hands and frenzied face stained in crimson.

\---

The fight was broken up by the sound of police sirens. Too bad, Chibs thought, because they were clearly winning.  
As the blue flashing lights approached, the men wiped their bloodied spit onto the backs of their hands and in haste the mass of bikes dispersed in a cacophony of pops and potato sounds.  
For a bit, the group stayed together, but it was just minutes before Niall spotted Chibs, who held back from the rest. The others were separating to make it more difficult for the police to follow.  
He showed left with a pointer finger as the others went straight on or to the right, and Niall knew they were doubling back to his own apartment.  
The adrenaline rush from the fight… the taste of copper in his mouth… the prospect of what they talked about doing after the meet-up… Niall was marble in jeans.

\---

After locking their bikes up and draping cloths over them so they’d be less identifiable from the street, Niall dragged open the rusty door to the apartment building. Let’s just say it’d seen better days. It was a cheap, run-down 5 story with 10 flats inside.  
The grass outside was patchy and uncut. A couple of the windows were cracked and just fixed up with cardboard and duct tape. The paint chipped and looked about as sad and filthy as the piss-soaked carpeting in the entrance. Whose brillant fucking idea was that?!  
Classy digs.  
Niall had very little to do with the other residents, trying to keep to himself for personal reasons. The less they knew about him and his… penchants, the better.  
  
He assumed his neighbors were shite, anyway, as he often heard voices arguing, or someone blasting rock music at all hours of the night. Sometimes the girl who lived above him got the shite beat out of her. There were a couple times he’d wanted to go up there, knock down the paper-thin door and take care of whoever it was beating her- but this kind of meddling never ended well. It’d be a minute before he’d have the cunt’s mates after him.  
If it got worse, though… he promised himself he would intervene. He might have been a gangster, but he still had some conscience left.  
  
As they crossed the threshold, and the stink of mold and urine hit, Niall winced. It did him in every time. As soon as he had some money he'd move to a better place. His cousin lived near Ardoyne Road and he'd heard something was opening up there. He'd saved just about enough to maybe be able to move out in a month.   
Anything would be better than this utter shithole.  
  
‘The Sex Pistols’ played from the apartment adjacent to the front door. “I’m nae being funny,” said Niall, “But this is outdated, now, innit? I mean, ‘Never Mind The Bollocks’ is about 10 years old. People need to get over it, like.”  
Chibs nodded. “Aye, I agree,” he replied, “But I still appreciate that raw, punk power, ye ken? The anger behind it.”  
  
“Me too, bai” said Niall, “But it’s as though nothing’s happened since, in these culchies' apartment. They even know what music is playing noo? What year it is?”  
Niall kicked the peeling door as they passed it, then led Chibs up the first flight of stairs.   
  
They’d been hanging out for some time, but this was the first time Chibs had entered the premises. Normally they met outside, or ended up at Chibs’ place.  
“Sorry, no lift,” Niall said over his shoulder, an outstretched hand an invitation to follow him further up.  
  
Chibs grabbed it, shifted his gaze to look below and then up. The stairwell was empty, and it seemed like half the bulbs had been screwed out. Only the 2nd and 4th floors still had some illumination, which left the 3rd floor landing quite shadowy.  
  
Risking discovery, he gave in to the bolt of desire moving through his body. Filip tugged on Niall’s wrist, pulling him into the darkest corner of where they stood.  
“What are ye-?”  
Niall didn’t have time to finish. Filip’s tongue slid along the crevice of his bruised lips, begging entry. The sudden searing contact of their bodies made Niall whimper.  
He almost tensed, thinking they were doing this out in the open- but there was only one other flat on his floor and they weren’t anywhere near that line of peephole vision.  
Niall relaxed into him, their mouths merging. The loveliness of the kiss, its unexpected intensity, made him shiver in anticipation of what was to come.  
They both tasted like iron and salt, and when Chibs bucked lightly into him, Niall knew whatever was going to happen needed to occur indoors.   
  
"Come inside," he begged.   
“Sorry, needed tae to do that,” Filip panted, smiling wickedly. His face hurt from the fight but he couldn’t be bothered with pain. Niall guided him around the corner, his mouth still slick.

“Home sweet home,” he breathed, unlocking flat 3a with a trembling, scraped hand.

\---

Chibs surveyed Niall’s apartment. It wasn’t dissimilar to his own, the one he left back in Glasgow. He took in the brown, battered sofa, the Jimi Hendrix picture on the wall, the motorbike calendar. the furnishings were sparse but functional. Easily left behind if you needed to move in the middle of the night.  
A scratched glass coffee table placed crookedly onto a beige shag rug finished the décor in the living room and kitchen combo. Lastly, an unclean glass and a couple of unwashed dishes rested soaking in the sink. If you respected yourself as a bachelor it was almost an imperative.

“Wanna drink?”

“Aye,” Chibs replied. “NEED one.”

“I’ve got some Jameson’s,” Niall chuckled, “If that’s still not too blasphemous for ye from the other night?”  
  
The kiss. The groping. Heat. Chibs visibly stiffened, much to Niall’s contentment. He hadn't forgotten, either. Far from it.   
“Come on,” he said, “Have a seat.”

“Fuck me,” said Chibs. He looked down at his blood-stained hands, knuckles crusted over as he removed his fingerless leather gloves. They were beginning to stiffen. 

“I’m getting you a glass,” said Niall, “Ye fecking need it, after that. I saw some of those punches ye took… though ye landed more. 'Twas impressive. Remind me never to piss ye off.”

Chibs’ head throbbed from a blow he’d taken to the back and there was a huge stain on his shirt from when his nose had bled.  
Niall, too, looked like hell.   
"Never, lad. You could never piss me off." 

\---

As they sat, knees touching, they sipped the Jameson’s on Niall’s brown sofa. The lights were dimmed and Niall had put on a Hendrix record in the background, low because he wasn't a total dick like his neighbors.   
Chibs sighed, and Niall followed suit.   
It was only when the whiskey coursed through their veins that their heart rates decelerated and their breathing steadied.

Niall looked at Filip, not hiding his adoration in the least. He finished his glass, before pouring Chibs and himself another. As he leaned back on the sofa, he let his arm drop around Chibs’ shoulder.  
Filip swallowed hard, Niall's hot gaze warming his flesh. Or was it the whiskey?  
  
He turned to him, pressing a chaste kiss to his mouth. Slinking over to his neck, to his recent Celtic Cross tattoo...   
  
"Filip..."  
Niall reciprocated and angled his face, stroking Chibs’ cheek as the velvet sweeps of his tongue coaxingly invited more. “Ye need a shower, Fil, wanna get fresh, like?”

“Aye, I could use one. Still literally covered in blood.”   
  
Chibs kissed Niall softly again, unable to resist him. He was stroking the back of his wavy hair when his hand strayed _there_.  
"Fuck," Niall whined at the graze.   
"I... I... " Filip whimpered back, gently cupping.   
  
Niall broke the moment, wanting to savor this. Not rush anything in yet another Irish whiskey-fueled frenzy. He pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room with a purposeful gait. Stopping when he got to the bathroom door, he turned on his heel and looked back, a wrecked shade darkening his expression.   
An outstretched arm while a hand threw open a door.   
  
“Well, what are ye waitin’ on, bai, a written invitation? Ye comin'?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this isn't up to my usual standard, I'm feeling off and this chapter has been sitting on my computer for a while and something was just blocking me from facing editing it. So here it is, hope it's passable! 
> 
> If my internet searches aren't wrong, the title of the chapter means My Beloved in Irish.  
> Again, forgive my butchering of Scottish and Irish dialect. Doing my best to keep it authentic. Emily, without your inspiration, your answering my questions, and your hilarious video suggestions to me I wouldn't know half the terms I do now, so thank you! You may recognize some of the dialogue :) 
> 
> The song at the beginning inspired this chapter, it's called The War, by Syml.  
> Then the song in the pub that trigger's Chib's flashback is by Marmalade, a Scottish band. It's called Reflections of My Life. I thought in particular the words to that song were appropo.


	15. A Ghrá mo Chroí - Part 2 of 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chibs reminisces until an unexpected phone call interrupts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for some reason my editing app changed Chibs' to Chib's so I'm trying to catch them all. I hate it when it has a mind of its own! Anyway I'll have another read through.

Chibs puckers his mouth, the last of the cigarette smoke dissipating above his head. He gently fingers the edge of what he's just pulled from his wallet, worn and tattered exactly like he's feeling.  
For a second he seems to will his gaze inward, and then with an effort Filip peers down just under the rim of his reading glasses. 

A glaze of hot tears comes down over his swimming eyes. The pad of his index finger shakily brushes over the man's lips.   
  


  
"Aww Jesus Christ, Niall," Chibs hiccups, a wail caught in his gullet. Wiping the drops from the corners of his wrinkled eyes with long sweeps, he throws off his glasses, which land softly onto the bedspread. He doesn't need them to decipher what is written when he turns the picture over. Every single time his breath hitches at the message permanently etched into his soul.   
  


_Filip,_  
 _a ghrá mo chroí. Tá mo chroí istigh ionat. Niall xxoo_ Filip, my beloved. My heart beats in you. Niall xxoo  
  
  
Chibs' heart aches under his breath, tightening beneath his ribs. Anguish and utter desolation don't know of time. Unfortunately woe doesn't have an expiration date but it does possess a good memory.   
He's about to get up and grab a bottle of whiskey when his phone rings.   
Unknown number from the UK.   
_  
  


Foreplay had begun long before the fight. Long before they ended up making out on Chibs' sofa, high on desire and reeking of alcohol fumes. Long before either began wondering what the other’s lips would feel like… how soft or hard their first kiss might be.

Filip was sure he’d fallen for Niall the moment he met him. One fateful afternoon he'd rolled in and there he was, sat at his mate’s bar drinking a gin and tonic out of a champagne glass. One of the most beautiful smiles Fil had ever seen on a man creased his handsome face.  
Chibs getting caught staring and Niall sipping a cocktail out of the wrong container both made for a very interesting icebreaker.  
  
Christ… Fil was gone for him in so short a time it felt like falling head first off a cliff. Just being near him sometimes dizzied his senses.  
It was those large doe eyes that had pulled him off balance. Dark like wet bark after a long storm, somehow gloomily colored with memory and yet alive with a spark of hope. It wouldn’t be until a bit later that they’d look up at Filip with that heart-rending tenderness, but even at first gaze he had had him dazzled.  
Chibs said as much: if someone looked into those dreamy orbs and claimed to be unaffected…well, Chibs would have called that person a liar.

To him, Niall was hauntingly beautiful. His features, the tired way he sometimes began a sentence…it was all calling to a wisdom no 20-year-old should have had.  
Filip didn’t know the entire story, but he knew enough to understand that the lad had suffered.  
For that reason inevitably the streets chose him. Equally obvious, though, from the dismissive way he’d gesture, or the silent pauses he took when smoking a fag, (flinching if he heard a loud noise shattering his reverie), that he didn’t really want this life.  
Men like him… kind-hearted and sensitive, by all definition _good lads_ …Chibs believed they weren’t cut out for it. Eventually it would chew them up and spit them out- he’d seen too many bright lights snuffed out too soon.  
  
He didn’t want that for Niall. Filip’s protective nature kicked in when he realized he loved him.  
As much he needed to prove himself, to progress in this feckin’ life he was creating… he dreamed of somehow, _maybe_ , getting himself and Niall out.  
  
_

Floorboards gave and bent under their weight as they walked to the bathroom. Niall blinked when he turned on the light, stealing a glance to the mirror to make sure Chibs was still behind him.  
His waves were about as disheveled as they could get, and the lines still stood out where Chibs’ fingers had raked in.   
  
Niall turned on the rickety shower, the knob squeaking as it landed on H. The cold floor under their feet a striking contrast to the warming air, condensation quickly streaked the chipped tile walls.  
“Fuck,” Chibs whispered when Niall stripped him, part arousal and part pain from his injuries.  
  
Using his thumbs to pull them down, Niall tugged on Chibs' boxers, leaving his own bunched up in the sink.   
It was a tight fit. With an unspoken agreement both knew they wouldn’t fuck in the shower. Not for their first time at least.  
This… this was foreplay. Purposeful to get clean and maybe get a little harder than they already were when they first walked in.  
  
Drawing the grimy shower curtain shut, two strong arms braced against the wall as Niall lowered his head under the stream, Chibs behind him. It was hard not to let his cock just slide between those superlative ass cheeks, but that's not what they were about this evening.   
  
The rusty smell of hard water hit their noses, hot drops like needles against their backs. Chibs made a lather in his hands. He gently washed the drying blood from Niall’s face, taking care as Niall winced with pain. He massaged soap into his chest, then down his taut stomach, ending over his semi-erect cock and balls. 

Though they’d seen one another shirtless, this was the first time naked. Everything about their admiration for one another stemmed from the ideal of perfection.  
Chibs’ gaze roved over Niall’s body- from the dark tendrils of hair curling on his forehead to the short curls twisted and crinkling at the base of his gorgeous cock.  
Jesus wept, he wanted him. So badly.  
  
Niall was no less enthralled. As he passed the soap over Filip’s broader, more brawny frame, he noticed the stretch of his muscles – corded over the expanse of his chest- wide- shouldered with a strength that seemed to rival that of a stallion.  
Slim but powerfully built.  
Little moans of pleasure escaped Chibs as Niall finished his ablution, taking time to minister to his thickness just like Chibs had done for him.  
  
“Oh Christ, lad,” Filip grunted, pulling him in close as his dick twitched.  
Their mouths meshed. They tasted like rusty water and whiskey.  
  
_

“I need ye, Fil. Please…”

Mellifluous promises rolled off Filip’s tongue as he kneaded into the groove of Niall’s firm back. “I got ye, Niall. I got ye.”

Their sweaty chests rose and fell in unison, alabaster melting into lightly gilded skin as two men became one for the first time. Niall lamented in hushed moans, Chibs completing their conversation with soft kisses and lustful whispers.

“Fil… Jesus, Fil...” Bare legs intertwined, knees shifted and their bodies bent to find their best place.

The fever had spread evenly between them, except for the low flame burning in their loins, sexes rigid and yearning. “If I hurt ye,” Chibs breathed. “Tell me if I hurt ye…”

“No,” Niall sibilated, eyes rolling into the back of his head. His narrow waist sought friction, pressure. His turgid cock brushed against Filip’s stomach with every deliberate and calculated movement.   
Chibs went deep, but not rough.  
Bruised hands raised Niall’s buttocks just enough for him to grind the top of his strong thigh against the other’s sensitive groin as he changed angle.  
Niall’s muscle tightened in response, then relaxed, only to clench onto Chib’s cock once more.  
"Christ, you're suckin' me in, lad..."   
  
The younger man drew in a satisfied breath as he came up for another delicious kiss. “More,” he begged. “Please. More.”

Fingertips dug into Chibs' muscular shoulders, pulling him until the idea of deeper was exhausted and Niall was whimpering in pleasure against his ear. The outside world didn’t exist except for some distant idea of freedom trapped inside the four walls they now called a refuge.  
“I’ll be yours forever,” Niall confessed, belly tight and brain humming. 

As a hand caressed Chibs’ nape, carding his raven locks, Niall’s nose found a spot behind Chibs’ ear.  
His lips but a hair’s-breadth from biting as his hips continue to rut, Niall’s foreskin retracted and extended against his belly in time to the lunges. 

“So close, Niall. I’m so close.”  
Niall nodded in understanding, pressing in with his body until he couldn't any more. They both smelled of Niall’s shampoo, something with a hint of green apples, and it was driving Niall crazy.

Chibs couldn't resist, he saw his orgasm on the dark horizon, just behind his eyelids. It blazed like the summer’s setting sun.  
“Aye, Niall...I’m...”

The tip of Niall’s scalding tongue dabbed at his neck in intervals. Chibs moaned, writhing beneath him. A tremor shook Filip, the one of his full release.  
Warm spurts of cum gifted him relief, the sensation enough for Niall to follow suit. 

“Niall, oh Jaysis... Niall,” he sobbed.

Niall was skirting his end. He rested his cheek against Filip’s, shuckling as if in prayer.  
“Fil…”

The unyielding tightness, the hungry burn…it was all too much. He latched on to Filip’s clavicle as he swallowed down his expletives, dissolving atop his lover in one long explosion.

_  
  
Filip’s fingers ghosted over Niall’s cheeks, which were the color of sunset on snow.  
  
“Are ye all right? I dinnae…? ” his question trailed off.  
Niall knew what he meant, what he was asking. He wagged his head, his large timid eyes bright and bemused.  
“No, Fil. It was perfect. You were perfect.”  
  
There was that mystery again to his eyes. It took Filip’s breath away. How could one person’s gaze be that full of life, pain, unquenchable warmth… and love?  
  
Their next kiss, when Chibs descended, was slow, thoughtful. They settled back together with a soft sigh between them.  
  
“Fil?” Niall whispered when they fell back, staring briefly at the cracks in the ceiling.  
  
“Aye?” he answered just as quietly.  
  
There was just a moment of hesitation and then Niall threw himself all in.  
“Filip, tá mé i ngrá leat.” _Filip_ , _I’m in love with you._

There. He’d said it. He’d been thinking about it for a while now… terrified of fucking things up so he had held it in. But now, after what they’d done…and the overwhelming sensation of that intimacy just making his senses reel… how could he not?!  
  
Niall shut his eyes tight, his lashes like two caterpillars across his lids… Niall was terrified of what he’d see when he opened them again. What if…  
There was no dip to the bed, so Filip was still lying next to him.  
Yet this silence…  
  
Then lips kissed his eyelids gently. He could feel his heart beating faster as Filip’s mouth trailed down to his.  
His eyes shot open to a grinning face pulling away.  
“I love ye, too, Niall.”  
  
The declarations hung there, as their fingers intertwined and Niall, reassured by his words, felt a bright flare of desire spring through him, warming his limbs.  
Filip’s own heated gaze had darkened in emotion. _  
  
_Fil coughed. “I’m starvin’,” Filip broke the tension. (But he also was truly famished).  
Between the exertion from the fight to the lovemaking…  
  
“If ye dinnae mind something cold, I hae ham and cheese in the fridge, like. Plenty more Jameson. Otherwise I can ring the chippy. Might convince the we’an to deliver.”  
  
There was a beautiful pensive shimmer to Chibs as he weighed his options. He was just stunning, Niall thought.  
“I think whatever keeps us here naked and drunk, lad, is fine by me. If I hae tae put on trousers tae get the bloody door… no thanks.”  
  
“Aye,” Niall chuckled, drawing himself to his feet in all his bare glory. “''Tis a bother. Sounds good tae me. Ham and cheese it is.”  
  
As they ate, Chibs turned on the TV. A music documentary about ‘The Who’ was playing.

“Fucking mods,” said Chibs, but they watched it anyway. As he took another swig of Jameson, he reminded himself to tell Niall about Armagh.   
  
"Pass her here," Niall joked, pointing to the whiskey. "I hae every intention of gettin' feckin' cunted tonight, bai." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying these. We'll be back to visit the other lads very soon as well! And Juice is on his way to see Michael as I type this... coming up!
> 
> The photos are my edits and I put them on my imgur otherwise I wouldn't have been able to put them up.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially meant to be one chapter, now I figure I'll write it until I think it's done. I’m personally invested in seeing where it goes and honestly I need the laughs.  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you like it. Feel free to kudo and comment, I love to engage with all my readers. (And I haven't spoken to another soul in person in 22 days, so PLEASE feel free to engage. :)


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